


Two Man Advantage

by GreyMichaela



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Coming Untouched, Kid Fic, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Single parent Tyler Seguin, Tyler has no idea what he's doing, not real games, offscreen character death from leukemia, so clearly I'm staying true to life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Olivia reaches across the counter and clutches Tyler’s wrist. “Are you gonna be my daddy for real?” she asks, voice suddenly urgent.Tyler hesitates, looking at Jamie. Jamie looks back at him, eyebrows raised.“Um,” Tyler says carefully. “Do you want me to be?”Olivia releases his wrist and nods. “You’re a good hockey player.”Jamie stifles a laugh in his drink.“There are, um, other criteria you should consider,” Tyler points out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, yeah, get your chirps in. The dam has broken and here's my second RPF. I DO WHAT I WANT OKAY
> 
>  
> 
> **Standard disclaimer: this is a story about real people who exist in the real world. If you found it by googling yourself or someone you know, do us all a favor and back right on outta here.**
> 
>  
> 
> The rating will change as the story goes on, so keep an eye on that.
> 
> I tend to post chaptered works every other day. Subscribing to the story is the best way to keep up to date, but I'll also post it on [my blog](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) when it updates.

Tyler isn’t expecting the knock on his door at seven AM. It’s a day off, he was fully intending to sleep in, so he’s not very happy as he clatters down the stairs and the dogs set up loud, excited barking. He locks them in the den, which they’re not thrilled about, and turns to see who’s disturbing him at this hour.

He’s even less happy when he opens the door to see a small child staring up at him, clutching some sort of stuffed animal to her chest. Tyler has no idea how old she is, but she's got big brown eyes and a pointed chin. Her skin is mahogany and her hair is escaping previously neat braids in wild curls. There’s someone standing behind her, but Tyler doesn’t have time to acknowledge them, because the little girl says, “Mama says you’re my daddy,” and bursts into tears.

Tyler considers himself fairly levelheaded in a crisis situation. This... this is not something he's ever been prepared for.

It takes a while to sort things out. He brings them both inside, into the living room. The little girl—Olivia, apparently—trails off into snuffles that she tries to hide in the stuffed animal Tyler still hasn’t managed to identify. The person with her is wearing a suit and introduces himself as Dexter Cane, a lawyer. He looks not very thrilled to be dealing with the whole situation. Tyler can sympathize.

“How—” Tyler waves a hand at Olivia, who appears to be talking to her stuffed companion—what _is_ that thing?

“Do you remember Stephanie Ratliff, in Boston, seven years ago?” Cane asks.

Tyler can’t remember six _weeks_ ago. He scrubs a hand through his hair.

Cane coughs delicately. “Could you put a shirt on, please?” He gives Olivia a look, as if Tyler being shirtless will somehow offend her sensibilities.

Tyler could point out that they came to _his_ house, at an ungodly hour of the morning, with no warning. He does not, because whatever the media says, he can be mature and reasonable. Instead he stalks upstairs and digs out a shirt, and if it’s one of his oldest and rattiest, well… at least it covers him. Most of him.

He stares at himself in the mirror briefly before going back downstairs. His reflection looks shell-shocked. _You’re not a father. You can’t_ be _a father. This isn’t happening._

Back downstairs, Cane looks only slightly appeased by the shirt but hands over an envelope. “This is for you.”

 _Tyler_ , it says on the outside, and Tyler holds it in his hands for a moment, knowing his world is about to drop out from under his feet and wanting, just briefly, to cling to normalcy.

Finally, though, he opens the envelope, turning his back on his unwanted guests to read it.

 _Tyler_ , it begins in a smooth, looping script. _I’m so sorry. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to_ ask _this of you. But there’s no one else._

Tyler doesn’t recognize the handwriting. _Maybe it’s a mistake_ , he thinks, wild hope buoying him up suddenly. _Maybe it’s a different Tyler_.

But the next sentence crushes that hope.

_You probably don’t remember much about our night together. You’d just won the Cup and were out with your team. God, you were so happy. I wanted to bottle that feeling and keep it with me, the way your eyes sparkled and how you stuck your tongue out and kind of curled it when you laughed at your own jokes. You were… intoxicating._

Tyler looks up, out over his backyard. The Cup. His rookie season. He barely remembers anything of the aftermath of winning—it was a blur of joyful screams and alcohol and laughter. They’d gone out, he knows that much. Of course they had. But had he picked up? He genuinely can’t remember. He glances back down at the letter.

 _I was a grad student, out for my birthday. Barely knew anything about hockey—my friends dragged me out to celebrate instead of studying. I wish I could say our eyes met across the crowded room or something, but you actually ran into me on your way back from the bathroom and knocked me flat on my ass_.

Tyler has to admit that sounds like something he would do.

 _You took me to your place, after you made sure my friends knew where we were going, and you asked me to sign an NDA. Said the lawyers insisted on it even though you thought it was stupid. And I’ve kept to it, I have. People have asked me who Olivia’s father is_ —Tyler’s hands tighten convulsively on the paper— _and I haven’t told them._

Tyler glances over his shoulder. Olivia has emerged from her deep conversation with _whatever_ that thing is on her lap and is looking around the room. Her hair is dark brown, wispy and wild with curls, and her eyes are darker, like melted chocolate. She asks Cane a question Tyler doesn’t quite hear. When Cane replies in a low whisper and Olivia juts her chin out in a stubborn manner, Tyler feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Wanna see the _dogs_ ,” she says.

“Oh, um,” Tyler says. “Sure, I mean. They love kids. But they’re big and they get excited, they might bump into you or knock you down.”

Olivia tilts her chin and gives him a scornful look.

“Okay,” Tyler says, almost amused. Nothing about this is funny, but he likes her grit. “Cane, the den is right through there. If you want to take her in while I finish reading this, that’d be great.”

Cane’s mouth tightens like he’s tasting something bad but he gets up and ushers Olivia out of the room.

Alone, Tyler turns back to the letter.

_We were doing fine on our own. I fell in love with Livvy when they put her in my arms in the hospital. It was her and me against the world. We were going to do so many things. Climb the Eiffel Tower. See Machu Picchu. Visit the Easter Islands. (She loves geography, it’s her best subject.)_

_And then I got sick. I told myself it was the flu, that it would go away and I’d be fine again, but it didn’t. And I wasn’t. Olivia wanted to go out, to the park and the zoo and the aviary, and I… I just didn’t have the strength or the energy._

_So I finally went to the doctor. Acute myeloid leukemia, they said. 70-80% of patients under 60 go into remission after their first round of chemo, they said. I wasn’t one of them. It was aggressive. Is aggressive, I guess, I’m not dead yet. But it’s going to happen soon, and Tyler… I’m so sorry. My family’s not an option. I couldn’t let Livvy be raised by people who think anyone other than straight and cisgender are “sinning against God”. They’re hateful. They’d brainwash my baby and I can’t—_

There’s a smudge on the paper. Tyler runs his thumb over it. He feels like he’s floating just above his body. In the den, he can hear the click of the dogs’ nails on the floor and happy panting, and Olivia giggling.

 _I’ve followed your career, of course. I’m sorry the Bruins traded you but it seems like the Stars have been so good for you. You’ve grown up. Maybe you’re still a little wild, but you’re_ kind _. And that’s what Olivia needs._

_You can do your own DNA test, of course, but I had one done as well, just to be sure. The results are included. I didn’t do anything but study and go to grad school when I met you. And after—well, I still didn’t exactly have time to go out and party. You were my first—not ever, don’t freak out—in about four years, and then you ended up being my last._

Tyler’s eyes are stinging. He drops the paper to rub them fiercely. This can’t be happening. He can’t even _remember_ this fierce, funny, independent woman he spent a night with, and somehow that feels worse than anything else he’s been presented with today.

Finally, he bends to retrieve the letter, taking a deep breath.

 _Now, on to my favorite subject. Our daughter._ Tyler has to close his eyes briefly at that. _Olivia Anne Ratliff. Born March 17th, 2012. You won’t care about how much she weighed or how long she was at birth, but she’s tall for her age—she basically had no chance there. I’m 5’10 and you’re… well, yeah. So she’s about the size of a 7-8 year old. And she’s got all the moxie of a fucking mule. Don’t try to fight her when she’s got her mind made up—you won’t win._

 _She’s… Tyler, she’s so good. She fights a lot, you’re going to get a lot of calls from whatever school you enroll her in. But I guarantee every single fight will be because she witnessed an injustice and was trying to right the wrong. She champions littler kids, protects them. Hell, she picked a fight with a_ fourth-grader _once because he was bullying a gay kid. She’s like you—she knows no fear. She throws herself into anything wholeheartedly and never does anything by half-measures. Again—like you._

Tyler half-laughs, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He doesn’t know how Stephanie knows him so well after just one night together, but she hasn’t been wrong yet. Olivia shrieks with laughter from the next room.

“Slobber!” she complains, but she sounds delighted.

Well, at least they’re getting along.

_Right now she wears 7-8 year old clothes, in size. Look for the tags in the stores. Or order them online if you want to save the time and hassle, but be warned—if she doesn’t like it, she won’t wear it. I guess you could describe her style as punk lumberjack ballerina, but that’ll probably change as she gets older._

_She loves geography, like I said. Not so great with math. Decent in English and social studies. And… she loves hockey. She didn’t know who you even were until about a month ago, when the doctors told me how long I had and I knew I had to tell her_ something _. But she’s been obsessed with the sport since she could hold a stick. Please, Tyler, if there’s one thing you do for her—get her into a hockey program._

There are several more smudges on the paper, wiped away like maybe Stephanie was crying as she wrote.

 _Take care of my baby girl_ , she says at the end. The letter isn’t signed.

Tyler looks at the letter in his hand for a very long time. And then he does the only thing he can think to do. He calls Jamie.

“You look fine, what’s the emergency?” Jamie says as he walks through the door.

Tyler wordlessly shoves the letter at him and sits down hard on the couch, head in his hands.

After a few minutes, Jamie sits beside him.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

Tyler says nothing. What is there _to_ say?

“Are you okay?” Jamie asks when he’s finished reading.

Tyler gives him an incredulous look.

“Stupid question, sorry. Um. What do you need from me?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler says, shoving his hands through his hair again. “I don’t _know_ , Chubbs, I just—it just _happened_ and she’s _in the den_ , and I’m _a father_? What am I going to _do_?”

“Well, can I meet her?” Jamie says, practical as ever.

So Tyler takes him through to the den, where he discovers Cane sitting in a chair with his feet close together and hands tucked under his thighs while Olivia sprawls on the floor with all three dogs mobbing her as she giggles.

They look up when Tyler opens the door, and Marshall breaks away from the pack to come greet him. Tyler goes to his knees and wraps his arms around Marshall’s heavy shoulders, letting his oldest, dearest friend give him some silent comfort. Marshall twists enough to lick his face, which makes Olivia laugh again.

“They give lots of kisses,” she declares, sitting up. She sees Jamie and her eyes widen. "You're Jamie Benn!"

Jamie smiles at her and steps forward, holding out a hand like the earnest dork he is. “Yeah, I’m—” He hesitates briefly and recovers. “I’m your daddy’s captain.”

Olivia perks up. “Oh, you mean on the team? You tell him what to do?”

“Well, I try to,” Jamie says, voice dry. “He doesn’t listen very well.”

“Hey,” Tyler protests. Marshall leaves him to go back to Olivia, the traitor, and Tyler gets back to his feet. “I listen.”

“Sure,” Jamie drawls. He winks at Olivia. “You listen, and then you do what you want.”

Olivia laughs, clearly delighted, and grabs her stuffed animal from the couch. She presents it to Jamie with an air that clearly says he should be properly impressed.

“Dis is Ferguson,” she says gravely.

Jamie takes one of Ferguson’s legs—paws?—and shakes it equally gravely. “Very nice to meet you, Ferguson.” He leans in. “What are you, exactly?”

 _Thank you, Jamie_.

Olivia giggles, face scrunching up. “He’s a anteater!”

Now that she’s said it, Tyler can see it, the long nose and the even longer tongue.

“Not a bear, for the Bruins?” Jamie is teasing, gentle.

Olivia shrugs. “I like the Stars better.”

Something in Tyler’s chest seizes and he coughs to clear it. “Would, um—sorry I didn’t offer before, but would anyone like something to drink?”

Olivia perks up. “Apple juice?”

“Uh—” Tyler has wine, vodka, rum, soda, and— “Is orange juice okay?”

Olivia makes a face. “I guess.”

They troop through into the kitchen and Tyler pours orange juice into one of the only plastic cups he has. He gives Jame Coke without asking and then raises eyebrows at Cane.

Cane decides on Sprite and Tyler waits until things are quiet, the dogs making themselves comfortable in their favorite spots before he speaks.

“What happens now?”

Cane swallow his sip of Sprite. “You sign papers taking custody. There are a few things you’ll need to sign, but that’s the main one.”

Olivia reaches across the counter and clutches Tyler’s wrist. “Are you gonna be my daddy for real?” she asks, voice suddenly urgent.

Tyler hesitates, looking at Jamie. Jamie looks back at him, eyebrows raised.

“Um,” Tyler says carefully. “Do you want me to be?”

Olivia releases his wrist and nods. “You’re a good hockey player.”

Jamie stifles a laugh in his drink.

“There are, um, other criteria you should consider,” Tyler points out.

Olivia’s face scrunches again and Tyler can’t help but find it adorable.

“Cri—what?”

“Things you should think about,” Jamie says, helpful as ever.

“Mama—” Olivia hesitates and then visibly steels herself as Tyler’s breath shortens. “She says—” She catches herself and Tyler’s eyes burn. “She _said_ you were… good. Good at hockey but also… just good.”

Tyler can’t look at her. He turns away, staring out the glass. He isn’t good. He has never _been_ good. _Wild. Chaotic. Party animal. Disorganized. Undisciplined_.

There’s a hand on his waist and Tyler turns without thinking to bury his face in Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie holds him, rubbing his back gently, and Tyler draws strength from him, clutching at his shirt.

Stephanie had thought he could do this. Jamie hadn’t said, but Tyler knew he thought he could do it too.

When he pulls away, Olivia is watching them with wide eyes.

“Are you gonna be my daddy too?” she asks, sounding thrilled at the prospect.

Jamie steps away like he’s been burned and Tyler buries the hurt, pushes it deep like he always does when Jamie reacts that way to the suggestion that he and Tyler are together.

“Ha, um, no,” Jamie says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “We’re just friends.”

Olivia looks disappointed but doesn’t argue the point.

“Does this mean you’re accepting custody?” Cane asks. He sounds like he can’t wait to get away. Tyler can definitely sympathize.

He looks at Jamie, who looks back, calm and steady. His best friend, the man he’d been in love with for the better part of four years. Tyler takes a deep breath. He thinks he might puke.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m—uh… accepting custody.”

The approval in Jamie’s eyes almost makes it worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said every other day and I may have meant it, but I also have a buffer because this thing wants to be written, so I'm gonna post daily for awhile. Please enjoy Tyler not having a clue.

They spend the next hour signing paperwork as Jamie helps Olivia get her bags out of Cane’s car. She doesn’t have much—just a couple of banged up suitcases and a backpack she drops carelessly on the pile.

“Mama said I hafta go to school here,” she tells Tyler. “Do I _really_ have to?”

Tyler hides his smile. “Afraid so. But maybe not today.” Was school even in? He has no idea. He goes by ‘hockey season’ and ‘not-hockey season’ and all he knows is that hockey season is about to start.

Still, this perks Olivia up no end. “Can I play wif the dogs some more?”

“Sure,” Tyler says. “Why don’t you take them outside? You guys can run around in the grass and get all dirty.”

Olivia looks delighted at the prospect and bolts for the door, all three dogs on her heels.

Cane finishes signing the last paper and stands. “That’s all I need, so I’ll be going. All the documents you’ll need to get her enrolled in school are here, as well as her shot records and medical history so you can find her a doctor.”

Tyler has to resist the urge to clutch at Cane’s perfect suit. “A doctor? Is she sick?”

Cane almost— _almost—_ sneers. It’s in the twitch of his threaded eyebrows and the downward quirk of his mouth. “No, of course not,” he says, straightening his cuffs. “But she’ll still need a doctor on file for her annual shots and anything else she might need.”

“What else would she need?” Tyler knows he’s starting to sound slightly hysterical, but given the circumstances, he thinks he’s justified.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Cane says, taking a step back. “Thank you for your time.” He glances out the sliding glass door to the backyard. “And… good luck.”

He’s gone before Tyler can ask what _that_ means, and Tyler and Jamie are alone in his dining room. Tyler looks at Jamie, who looks steadily back.

“Don’t leave,” Tyler says. He feels like a drowning man clutching at a leaf, but Jamie doesn’t laugh at him.

“I’ll stay until you ask me to go,” he says instead. “But I have no idea what to do with a little girl, just so you know.”

“Don’t you have a sister?”

“An _older_ sister,” Jamie says. “Don’t _you_ have younger sisters?”

“Yeah but it’s not like I raised them!” Tyler realizes his voice is getting higher and he takes a deep breath. “I was busy with, like, hockey shit!” He turns in a circle. “I have to—where’s my phone?”

“Probably in your bedroom,” Jamie says, and Tyler hates him a little for being so calm. “I’m going to make breakfast.”

“I’m calling my mom,” Tyler announces, and runs for his bedroom.

 

In retrospect, he probably should have predicted his mother’s reaction.

“You _what_?”

Tyler winces and holds the phone away from his ear. “Mom— _Mom_. Stop yelling and _listen_. No, I didn’t know. Mom, you think I would have kept this a secret? You think I _could_ keep this a secret? I had no idea until she showed up on my fucking—sorry—doorstep! _No_ , Mom, I’m not pranking you again, I swear to God, I’m dead serious. Look, do you want me to take a picture of her? Will you believe me if I do that?”

He’s already heading back downstairs, not listening to whatever Jackie is saying. Olivia is flat on her back, wrestling with Cash and Gerry as Marshall watches. Tyler turns on the camera and trains it on her.

“Olivia!” he calls.

Olivia jerks her head up. There are grass stains all over her dress and her hair has come out of its careful braids, curling in wild tendrils around her small face.

Over the speaker, Jackie gasps. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_. Ty, she looks _just like you_.”

Tyler looks at Olivia doubtfully as she looks back at him, just as dubious.

Jackie laughs, almost a sob. “You have made that exact face at me _so many times_. Tyler, what is going on?”

 

Tyler takes the phone back in the kitchen and sits down at the counter to tell her everything—or at least as much as he can. Jamie is cooking omelets, his broad back turned. Tyler had clearly woken him up too—he hadn’t even stopped to put gel in his hair, so it’s falling forward into his face in a soft, shining wave as he flips eggs. Tyler wants to run his fingers through it.

“—is she?” Jackie asks.

Tyler jerks. “What?”

“How old is she?” Jackie repeats.

“Um. Six… and a half, or so, I guess?” He straightens on the stool. “Mom, is school in? Is she old enough for school? Where do I even take her? _How_ do I enroll her? What do I do with her when I’m not here, or on the road? What do I do with her when I _am_ here?”

He’s starting to sound hysterical again, he realizes as Jamie drops the spatula and rounds the counter to grab Tyler’s shoulders.

“Breathe,” he orders.

“Oh, is Jamie there?” Jackie says. “Let me talk to him, honey.”

Tyler hands over the phone on autopilot, dimly grateful that Jamie keeps one hand on his shoulder as he straightens to speak to Jackie.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, ever the polite Canadian boy. “No ma’am, I had no idea. Segs called me this morning.” He listens and then stoops to look in Tyler’s eyes. “I think he’s in shock,” he reports.

“Am not,” Tyler says vaguely. He tilts forward just enough that he can rest his cheek against Jamie’s solid stomach. He can hear Olivia telling one of the dogs something in a very serious voice. Tyler closes his eyes. Maybe this is just… the worst dream ever.

Jamie pinches him and Tyler flails upright. “Fucking— _ow_ , Chubbs!”

“Language,” Jamie chides, but there’s laughter in his eyes. “You can’t hide your way out of this one, Seggy.” He holds the phone out again.

“So the first thing you need to do is find her a school,” Jackie says. “And clothes—what’s her wardrobe like?”

“How the hell should I know?” Tyler grumps. “She has a couple suitcases. They’re pretty beat up.”

“Single mother, didn’t have much of a budget, did she?” Jackie muses. “That baby probably needs an entire new wardrobe. And of course she’ll need furniture for her room. And school supplies.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Tyler protests. “How am I supposed to know how to do _any_ of this?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Jackie says firmly. “Can you keep her alive for one day, Ty?”

Tyler’s not entirely sure, but Jamie nods at him. His hand is still on Tyler’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Tyler says. “Text me the flight details.”

When he hangs up, Jamie squeezes his shoulder and returns to the stove. “Go ask Olivia if she’ll eat omelets with vegetables in them.”

Tyler drags himself to his feet and to the back door. Olivia is cross-legged on the grass, with all three dogs sitting attentively in front of her, listening to every word. Tyler hesitates, unwilling to break the tableau. Olivia swings her arm, miming something—a slapshot, Tyler realizes, his heart squeezing again—and then does a little miniature celly right there in front of the dogs, who immediately crowd around to get in on the fun.

Tyler clears his throat and Olivia looks up, startled.

“Um, Jamie wants to know if you like omelets. With vegetables in them.”

Olivia wrinkles her nose as Marshall ambles over to flop at Tyler’s feet. Tyler bends to rub his ears.

“She wearing you out, old man?”

“He liked my celly,” Olivia announces, suddenly right in front of him.

“It was a very good celly,” Tyler tells her. “Omelets?”

Olivia sighs, put upon and world weary. “I don’t want vegetables in mine though.”

She and the dogs follow Tyler back inside as he tries to figure out a rebuttal.

“They’re good for you?” he tries.

This is met with the disdain it deserves as Olivia clambers onto the stool and swings her feet.

“They’ll make you big and healthy,” is Tyler’s second sally.

Olivia snorts and Jamie nearly drops his plate, eyes wide.

“She sounds _just_ like you,” he says, setting the plate in Tyler’s spot.

“No vegetables?” Tyler says, despairing.

Olivia shakes her head firmly.

Tyler gives Jamie a helpless look and Jamie’s lips twitch.

“She won’t die if she goes one day without healthy food, Segs.” He leans in, hand curving around around the jut of Tyler’s hipbone, and puts his lips to Tyler’s ear. “Besides, maybe we can sneak some in without her noticing,” he whispers.

Tyler’s too busy trying not to have a very inappropriate reaction in front of the small child to do more than nod manically and sit down on his stool and pretend to taste the food Jamie has so thoughtfully made for him.

Olivia devours her omelet and is done before either of them.

“I’m bored,” she announces. There are twigs in her hair. Jamie reaches out and gently pulls one free, clearly fighting a smile. “Can I essplore the house?”

“Uh.” Tyler tries desperately to remember if he left anything lying around. With a rush of horror, he remembers he left out the lube from two days before. Were there condoms, too? Jamie saves the situation.

“Why don’t I show you the downstairs while—” He stumbles briefly. “Your, um. Tyler… goes and tidies up a bit upstairs? And then you can pick out what room you want to be yours!”

Tyler could _kiss_ Jamie. Well. He could always kiss Jamie. But at this moment, he’d throw himself in front of a bus for the man. Jamie winks at him and he and Olivia leave to explore the downstairs as Tyler hurls himself up the stairs like a madman.

He stuffs the lube _and_ the condoms, oh my god why does he have so _many,_ he never even _uses_ them, under the mattress and then trips over his favorite dildo, big and purple with a flared head. He likes to imagine it’s Jamie’s dick when he fucks himself on it, which always feels great in the moment but usually leaves him feeling defeated and miserable after. And now is _not_ the time to be angsting about Jamie’s dick.

Tyler grabs the dildo, does a quick sweep to make sure everything else is put away, and shoves it under the pillows as Jamie and Olivia come up the stairs.

“This is your d—” Jamie stumbles again, mouth twisting.

“This is my room,” Tyler says. He can do some rescuing too. “The guest rooms are down the hall. There are three of them and you can pick whichever one you want.”

Olivia’s face lights up. “ _Any_ of them?”

“Absolutely,” Tyler tells her.

Olivia squeals and dashes from the room and Jamie steps in close. Tyler is not complaining about this sudden lack of personal space they seem to be sharing, which makes him miss what Jamie says.

“Sorry, what?”

Jamie gives him a weird look and leans even closer, because God hates Tyler and wants him to suffer. “I _said_ , what if she picks the room beside yours?”

It’s Tyler’s turn to give him a weird look right back. “Why would that be a problem?”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna have to learn to be quiet, aren’t you?”

“Learn to be— _oh_.” Tyler gives Jamie a disgusted look. “You really think I’d bring anyone back here with a _kid_ in the house?”

“Well I don’t know, do I?” Jamie says, stepping away. “I don’t know what you get up to all on your own over here!”

“I’m _not_ on my own now,” Tyler snaps. He folds his arms across his chest because something is lodged under his breastbone at the thought of Jamie just _assuming_ that Tyler would be that thoughtless, that careless.

Jamie’s expression melts into concern and he takes a quick step forward. “Segs, I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” Tyler said, and brushes past him into the hall.

 

He finds Olivia quickly and sure enough, she’s picked the bedroom beside his. She’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed, staring around the room.

“What color would you like it to be?” Tyler asks, coming to sit next to her.

Olivia’s eyes go wide. “I can paint it?” she breathes.

“Well,” Tyler hedges, already envisioning the disaster of a six year old set loose with a can of paint, “we can _hire_ someone to paint it. Any color you want. What do you like most in the world?”

“Hockey,” Olivia says instantly. She takes his hand, not even looking at him, still gazing around the room as if trying to imagine it as hers, but Tyler holds his breath and doesn’t move as she nestles her small fingers in his palm.

She looks up at him after a moment, though, frowning. “But I like jography too.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, smiling. “Your mom told me about that in her letter. All the places you were going to visit.” He snaps his mouth shut, realizing what he’s said, and curses himself as Olivia’s lip wobbles. “I have an idea,” Tyler says, not really sure what he’s going to say but desperate to get the sheen out of Olivia’s big eyes. “What if… what if we went to restaurants around Dallas from the places you want to visit? We could get a big map,” he continues, warming to the idea, “and you could put push pins in it for everywhere we eat. You can choose the places, and we can try them all if you want.”

It’s worked, he realizes with a rush of delight and relief. Olivia bounces to her knees, clasping her hands together.

“Yes!” she says. “Yes, _yes_ , can we start tonight? Please?”

Jamie appears in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders around his ears, and Tyler doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead he smiles at Olivia.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “We can start tonight.”

“Can Uncle Jamie come too?” Olivia asks.

Jamie visibly startles. “Oh, that’s okay—”

“If you want Uncle Jamie there, then of course he can come,” Tyler says firmly. Jamie’s not weaseling his way out of this one.

“I need to talk to you,” Jamie says.

Tyler pats Olivia’s knee. “I’ll be back in a minute. You think about what else you want in your room, eh?”

He follows Jamie into the hall and shuts the door. Jamie’s looking at the floor, the wall—anywhere but at Tyler, who’s never seen such a big man look so much like a kicked puppy.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jamie blurts finally.

Tyler raises an eyebrow. “What, the part about me being a slut, or the part about me not being able to control myself to the point that I’d bring _strangers_ into a house with a six year old?”

Jamie turns away, one heavy shoulder going up as if to ward off the blow. “I don’t—I didn’t—”

He looks _miserable_ , and Tyler can’t stop himself from taking Jamie’s arm and pulling him back around to face him.

“I haven’t slept with anyone in over three years,” he says quietly. _Because of you_ , he wants to say. _Because of your big eyes and your stupid face and the way you fight for me, for the team, for the way you believed in me when no one else did_. He doesn’t say it.

Jamie looks poleaxed, mouth working. “But you—when we go out, you—”

Tyler lifts a shoulder. “Imagine the chirping if the boys knew I _wasn’t_ sleeping around. So I find a willing girl, or guy, to leave with me. Give ‘em a little money and make them sign an NDA, then come back here.”

“But _why_?” Jamie demands.

And there it is. His opportunity. He can tell Jamie, his captain, his best friend, his _linemate_ , how he feels about him. Jamie’s _asked_. He wants to know why Tyler’s celibate.

Tyler opens his mouth—and nothing comes out. He can’t do it. Jamie doesn’t feel the same way. Tyler’s known this for a long time, watching Jamie go through a string of girlfriends, each one sweet and pretty and smart, and he’s long since accepted that he’ll never have more than he has right now, standing in his hall with a hand on Jamie’s bicep and Jamie’s eyes fixed on his face.

And that’s why he shrugs, dredging up a smile. Because he can’t lose this. He can’t lose _Jamie_. He can’t risk what they _do_ have for some stupid, pointless declaration of love.

“It stopped feeling like fun and started feeling like an obligation,” he says. He pokes Jamie in the chest suddenly. “And don’t you _dare_ slutshame me, asshole. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of, but sleeping with people isn’t one of them, so if you’re going to—”

Jamie covers Tyler’s mouth with one big hand. He’s almost smiling, his eyes soft. “I’m not,” he says quietly. “I _wasn’t_. I never meant it that way, Segs, I swear. I just… I’m so sorry. I should have thought better of you.”

“Story of my life,” Tyler says, moving Jamie’s hand. He tries for a smile but Jamie’s face falls. He looks _crushed_ , and he moves fast, pulling Tyler into his arms before Tyler can react.

“I’m an asshole,” Jamie says in Tyler’s ear. “Did I fuck it up? Did I fuck _us_ up?”

Tyler can’t stop himself from pressing his face into the crook of Jamie’s neck for just a minute. He smells so good, warm and spicy and like _home_. But then he eases back.

“We’re good,” he says quietly, holding Jamie’s eyes, and he sees the moment Jamie believes him, relaxing and a tiny smile quirking his mouth.

“‘Uncle Jamie’, huh?”

“It suits you,” Tyler says, patting his cheek. “You look like an uncle. The kind that gives those hard candies—Werther's.” He goes back into Olivia’s room, grinning at Jamie’s outraged sputters behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna pretend I remembered Jordie went to the Habs at the end of last season. *vague hand-wavy gesture*

Olivia is head and shoulders deep in the closet, inspecting the built-in drawers.

“Do you want to unpack?” Tyler asks her.

Olivia enthusiastically agrees and they spend the next several hours figuring out where to put her belongings. She really doesn’t have much, and Tyler has to admit his mother was right—not that _that’s_ a surprise—and needs a lot. Even Tyler, with his minimal knowledge of little girls and what they need, can see she needs more than she has.

 

He manages to somehow persuade Olivia into a cleaner outfit before they go out to eat, but he admits defeat when it comes to her hair, looking at Jamie, who shrugs just as helplessly.

“What did your mama do with your hair?” Tyler asks.

Olivia, talking to Ferguson again, squirms. “She liked to braid it. Or sometimes pigtails.”

 _What the fuck is a pigtail_ , Tyler mouths to Jamie, who looks baffled.

Finally, Tyler locates a hairband and sort of scrapes the worst of the wild curls back into something resembling a ponytail while Olivia squirms more and complains loudly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tyler chants, trying to get one last strand under the elastic. “Okay, _done_.”

He drops his hands and Olivia inspects herself in the mirror. The twist of her mouth looks just like Tyler’s when he’s disappointed in something.

“I’ll get better,” Tyler says. “Sorry, I know it’s shi—bad.”

Olivia just grabs Ferguson. “Let’s go.”

“Where _are_ we going?” Tyler asks, following her from the house as Jamie trails behind them. “Your first night, should be something special, right?”

“Efeopean!” Olivia announces.

“Fair enough, there’s a good place not too far away.” Tyler gets Olivia in the backseat as Jamie climbs in the front. He looks across the gearshift at Jamie for just a minute, giving himself permission to look while Jamie fiddles with his phone.

When Jamie looks up, Tyler’s put the car in gear and they’re rolling out of the driveway.

 

“Segs,” Jamie says when they’re on the highway. “We should talk about—”

Tyler throws a glance over his shoulder at Olivia, who’s deeply absorbed in talking to Ferguson. “About?” he prompts.

“Media,” Jamie says. “What if we get recognized? What do we say if someone asks who she is?”

“The owners won’t,” Tyler said, changing lanes. “I’ve been there a lot, they know me and they keep their mouths shut. But—” He scowls at the road, turning options over in his head. “I don’t want to lie and say she’s a niece or family friend because when the truth _does_ come out….”

“Yeah, doesn’t look good for you,” Jamie agrees.

“But I’m also not ready to drop that particular bomb,” Tyler says. He shudders at the thought. It’s going to be a _circus_ , and he’ll be at the center of it, right in the mouth of the lion.

“So we’ll just rely on societal norms and expectations,” Jamie says.

Tyler blinks at him. “We’ll what now?”

Jamie pitches his voice higher, mimicking a stranger. “Oh, what a cute little girl, who are you?” He drops his voice and adds a growl, clearly pretending to be Tyler. “This is Olivia. We have to be going now.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Tyler can’t help pointing out.

Jamie grins at him. “We don’t offer _any_ information. We pose for a picture, sign whatever, and when they ask questions about her, we change the subject, and they’re the assholes for badgering us.”

Tyler turns that over in his head. It could work. It won’t work for _long_ , but maybe it will hold off the worst of the invasive questions until he’s figured some stuff out. He nods. “We’ll go with that, then. But I still don’t sound like that.”

Jamie’s grin just widens and he pitches his voice deep again. “What, you don’t think it’s sexy?”

“What’s ‘sexy’?” Olivia pipes up, and sheer panic flashes across Jamie’s face.

“Um,” Tyler says, fighting giggles as he takes the exit. “It’s when someone’s cute or funny. But when you’re older. Like if you want to date them.”

“You mean like boyfriends?”

“Yeah, like that,” Tyler says.

Olivia wrinkles her nose. “Boys are gross.”

“They sure are,” Tyler agrees. By some miracle, he finds a parking space only a few blocks from the restaurant.

They walk down the sidewalk, Olivia between them, Ferguson under her arm. Suddenly she stops and tugs urgently at Tyler’s pant leg.

Tyler stops too, and crouches to be at eye level. “What’s up?”

Olivia looks everywhere but him. “Should I call you Daddy?” she finally asks, her voice small.

Tyler chews on his cheek for a minute. “I feel like… maybe you’re not ready for that.” Olivia doesn’t look at him, pointed chin turned away. “I feel like maybe _I’m_ not ready for that,” Tyler confesses, and this gets Olivia to look up at him. Tyler smiles at her. “For now, why don’t you just call me Tyler?” He leans in, conspiratorial. “You can still call _him_ —” pointing at Jamie, “Uncle Jamie, though. He loves it.”

Jamie’s eyes promise murder when Tyler stands up. Olivia slips her small hand into his and leans against his leg briefly.

“C’n we go eat now?”

“Yeah, let’s do this thing.”

 

Dinner is delicious, and Olivia keeps them entertained with running chatter, commentary on anything and everything that pops into her head, it seems. She insists on sharing her meal with Ferguson, who she reports is not a fan.

“Tragic lack of taste,” Jamie says, shaking his head. “You’ll have to teach him to appreciate good food, Olivia.”

After the meal, Olivia drags her feet. “I’m still hungry,” she says.

Tyler looks at her, incredulous. “You ate your weight in lamb tibs, I was there.”

“But there’s a hole in my stomach,” Olivia says. Her tongue peeks out between her teeth as she fights the smile. “An _ice cream_ shaped hole.”

Jamie bursts out laughing as Tyler covers his face, trying to hide his own amusement. Olivia grins, clearly pleased with herself, and makes big, pleading eyes at Tyler.

“Okay,” Tyler says finally. “Okay, _okay_. Look, there’s a Marble Slab right there. Just this once though, okay? Ice cream’s not good for you after every meal.”

Olivia’s expression begs to differ but she doesn’t argue.

 

It’s when they’re standing in line in the ice cream shop that things begin to break down. Olivia looks at the flavors of ice cream, and then examines the toppings, and then goes back to the flavors. Her little face is anguished, even after accepting several tastings to settle on a flavor.

“There’s so many,” she says.

Tyler shifts his feet. A line is forming behind them, people starting to look bored and impatient.

“Just pick something,” he suggests.

“But what if I don’t like it?”

“Then you don’t get it again next time,” Tyler says, tone sharper than he intends. More people have just come in the store, which suddenly feels cramped and small. Any second now, they’re going to be recognized and it’s going to be a free-for-all.

Olivia looks at the ice cream, looks at Tyler, screws up her face, and bursts into tears.

Tyler is shocked into immobility for a minute. Jamie seems equally frozen beside him.

Olivia sits down hard on the floor, crying harder, her face bright red, and Tyler moves on instinct, scooping her up and leaving the store. Olivia doesn’t fight him as he turns the corner and sits them both down on the steps of a rather majestic brownstone. Olivia is still crying, fists wrapped in Tyler’s shirt, and instead of calming, she seems to be working herself up into a full on hysterical fit.

Tyler rubs her back, praying none of the neighbors will come to investigate the noise. Jamie hasn’t joined them, and Tyler isn’t sure if he’s grateful or betrayed by that.

He realizes after a minute that Olivia’s talking, hiccuping gasped words through the tears, and he bends to listen.

“Want… _Mama_ ,” she sobs, and suddenly _Tyler’s_ fighting tears.

“I know,” he whispers, pressing their cheeks together. “I know, I know you do. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry all you’ve got is me.”

Olivia squirms, but not to get away. She gets her arms free and wraps them around Tyler’s neck, a damp, warm weight against his chest. She’s still crying, but the worst of the sobs seem to have abated.

“You must miss her so much,” Tyler murmurs, rocking her back and forth.

Olivia nods against his throat, hiccuping.

“You poor kid,” Tyler says. “Got ripped away from your home _and_ your mother, dumped in a strange city where the people talk weird and with some tattooed dude who has no idea what to do, and on top of that, you had to spend all that time with _Cane_.” He waits until Olivia looks up at him and then shivers theatrically.

Olivia almost smiles, ducking her face back down to press it into his shirt again.

“It’s gonna get better,” Tyler tells her, hand moving in rhythmic sweeps up and down her spine. “I promise. It won’t hurt this bad forever.”

And then Jamie turns the corner, face lighting at the sight of them. He has three ice cream cones carefully balanced in his hands, and he sits down beside them as Olivia swipes at her face and sits up, still on Tyler’s lap.

“I had to guess what flavor you liked,” Jamie says. “But there’s raspberry cheesecake swirl with white chocolate chips mixed in, and dark chocolate fudge with marshmallows and pecans, and sweet cream but that one’s for me.” His eyes twinkle as he licks the side of the ice cream and Tyler does his best not to react.

Olivia opts for the raspberry cheesecake, but shows no interest in getting off Tyler’s lap. They eat with her snuggled against him, wispy curls tickling his nose as Tyler does his best to eat without dripping ice cream in her hair.

When they’re done, Olivia sighs. “‘M too tired to walk,” she says.

“The car’s like two blocks away,” Tyler points out.

“So _far_ ,” Olivia says, and somehow gets heavier in Tyler’s arms.

“I’ll carry her,” Jamie says, lips twitching. He gathers Olivia up and stands, Tyler following suit. He’s man enough to admit that it does something to him to see Jamie holding a child— _Tyler’s_ child—but he says nothing, just digs out his keys and leads the way to the car.

Olivia’s asleep before they’re on the freeway.

“Doing okay?” Jamie asks, his tone hushed.

Tyler focuses on the road. “I’m… yeah. She misses her mom.”

“Of course she does.”

“I’m not enough,” Tyler blurts, and immediately wishes he could take it back.

Jamie’s already shaking his head. “Not true. I know you weren’t _prepared_ , but you’re going to do fine.”

“She misses her mom,” Tyler repeats, and somehow Jamie gets what he’s saying.

“You’re going to be a great father,” he says, and his voice makes the fact undeniable. This is happening. Tyler has a child, he’s become a parent, and he’s going to be a good father. Jamie laughs suddenly. “I can’t _wait_ to introduce her to the team.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to spoil her _rotten_ ,” Tyler says. His chest eases. Even if he fucks up—and he knows he will—at least he has Jamie.

“Is it okay if I tell Jordie?” Jamie asks. “He’s in Montreal, but he’ll want to know.”

“Yeah, of course,” Tyler says immediately. “Will you go with me to practice in the morning? _Shit_ , how am I going to practice if I don’t have a sitter?”

“Your mom’s coming in early, remember?”

“Right.” Tyler relaxes again. And then tenses. “But what about when she leaves?”

Jamie puts a hand on his thigh. “Segs. Chill. She’ll help you figure this all out.”

Tyler nods, focusing on the road and not on Jamie’s hand where it’s resting on his leg.

 

He takes Olivia when they get home, bundling her gently into his arms as she mumbles something, and following Jamie up the walk to the front door. He blesses the fact that he gave Jamie a spare key years ago as Jamie unlocks the door to let them in.

A quiet word hushes the dogs’ happy greetings, and Tyler glances at Jamie. “Can you let them out for me?”

He heads upstairs and gently shakes a protesting Olivia awake in the bathroom so she can brush her teeth, which she does with her eyes drooping and shoulders hanging. Tyler can sympathize—he’s feeling pretty wrung out too. He manages to get the hairband out of her hair without too much trouble and winces when his finger catches on a tangle. He’s known this child— _his_ child—less than twenty-four hours and he already knows there’ll be hell to pay if he tries to brush her hair right now.

One night without brushing it won’t kill her, he decides. Olivia insists on help getting into her pajamas, which they’d put away in the closet armoire, so Tyler does his best to get her limbs in the appropriate holes and the pajamas zipped.

“What idiot thought a zipper was a good idea on children’s clothes?” he mutters to himself as he tries not to catch the teeth on Olivia’s skin.

Finally, he’s done, and he helps Olivia up and into bed, pulling the blankets over her. She blinks up at him.

“G’night, Tyler,” she murmurs.

“Goodnight, Olivia,” Tyler says.

Jamie’s waiting in the hall, hands in his pockets and one foot up on the wall behind him. He looks unfairly good and Tyler fights the urge to walk into his arms.

He rubs his neck instead. “Dogs good?”

“Yeah, they did their business and they’re downstairs.” Jamie pushes off the wall and closes the distance between them. “ _You_ good?”

Tyler blinks, trying not to sway into Jamie’s warmth. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—it’s a lot, you know?”

“You’re doing really well,” Jamie murmurs.

Tyler wants to kiss him. Wants Jamie to hold him. _Wants_. He pushes it away. “She lost her shit in an ice cream shop,” he says.

“She’s a kid. They’re weirdly resilient right up until they’re not, and maybe your mom would have been able to tell she was close to the edge, but we can’t all be superhuman. You handled it right. You got her out, got her calmed down.” Jamie smiles at him. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Tyler closes his eyes.

“That twenty-one year old kid who showed up here angry and defiant and bruised?” Jamie says, making Tyler open his eyes. “ _He_ maybe couldn’t have done it.” He brushes Tyler’s cheekbone with a knuckle. “You’re not that kid anymore. _You_ can do anything you put your mind to, and that includes raising a six year old girl.”

Tyler isn’t strong. He’s ashamed of his lack of self-control but he can’t stop himself from leaning in and pressing his forehead to Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie holds him wordlessly, bracketing him in a tiny pocket of peace. “Do you want me to stay the night?” he finally asks.

Tyler gathers the last of his willpower and steps back, shaking his head. “We’ll be fine. You should go home. Jamie….” Jamie’s eyes are so warm, so kind. “Thank you,” Tyler says. “I’d have lost my mind in a goddamn minute if it weren’t for you today.”

“I’ll be over in the morning, say an hour before practice?”

Tyler nods and watches as Jamie heads back downstairs. Then he brushes his teeth, changes, calls the dogs, and climbs into bed. As always, Cash and Gerry get in their own beds, while Marshall curls up at Tyler’s feet.

He falls asleep to the sound of them breathing.

 

He’s awoken by the door opening in the middle of the night. Tyler sits upright as Cash growls but cuts himself off as if recognizing the intruder.

“T-Tyler?” Olivia sounds miserable.

Tyler flicks on the lamp beside the bed. Olivia is standing in the doorway clutching Ferguson, her mouth drooping.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” Tyler says.

Olivia’s lip wobbles and she rubs her eyes with a fist. “My room is… big.”

“Well, it’s a big house,” Tyler says, and then feels like an idiot. “Do you want… um. Do you want to stay in here with me and the dogs, just for tonight?”

Olivia’s face lights up and she scrambles onto the bed in record time, giving Marshall a kiss on the head in passing before squirming under the covers.

Tyler settles back down and turns off the light. He can just see the curve of Olivia’s cheek in the moonlight. “I don’t know any bedtime stories,” he says. “And my singing voice is terrible.”

“That’s alright,” Olivia says matter-of-factly. She snuggles down into the pillows. “G’night, Tyler.”

“Goodnight, Olivia,” Tyler says again, and this time he falls asleep watching his daughter as she dreams beside him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This (VERY long) chapter should be titled "Jordie is a little shit and wildly fun to write".

He wakes up with a heavy weight across his chest and hair in his mouth. Tyler drags his eyes open to see Olivia face down on top of him, her face buried in his shoulder. She’s a tiny furnace, pumping out so much heat Tyler’s sweating, so he gently eases her off to the side and slips out of bed to use the bathroom.

Olivia’s still asleep when he comes out, so he takes the dogs downstairs and lets them out, thinking despairingly about food he might be able to make that a six year old will eat.

The doorbell rings and Tyler freezes, glancing at the clock. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning—Jackie’s plane isn’t due for another two hours, and Jamie isn’t coming over until nine.

But sure enough, Jackie’s standing outside his door, beaming at him. Tyler’s heart lurches and he stumbles into her arms.

“Mom,” he says, holding her tight. “ _Mom_.”

“I know, baby, I know.” Jackie strokes his hair and then releases him. “I got an earlier flight.”

“You could have called,” Tyler said, diving to pick up her bags and usher her inside. “I would have come and got you.”

“And wake Olivia up, make you drag her out this early?” Jackie snorts. She looks around the living room and nods. “At least you’re keeping the place nice.”

“The housekeeper is,” Tyler mumbles. “I mostly just stay out of her way, she scares me.”

“So where’s Olivia?” Jackie asks.

“Tyler?” Olivia sounds uncertain, standing at the top of the stairs, her hair a wild aureole around her face.

Tyler darts up the stairs and kneels beside her. “Hey,” he says softly. “My mom wanted to come meet you. Is that okay?”

Olivia’s eyes widen. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, your grandma. Do you want to come downstairs and meet her?”

Olivia nods and then catches herself. “Is she—” She chews on her lip as Tyler waits, confused. “Is she nice?” she finally says in a rush.

Tyler flashes back to the letter, the way Stephanie had talked about her own parents, and guilt floods him. “She’s _so_ nice,” he tells Olivia. “She takes care of everyone and she’ll love you exactly as you are, she’ll never try to change you.”

Olivia digests that and then starts down the stairs. She marches up to Jackie and holds out one hand. “I’m Olivia,” she says clearly. “You’re my… Tyler’s mom.”

Jackie sinks to her knees and takes Olivia’s hand. “I am, which makes me your grandmother.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. “You’re a very beautiful young lady and it is absolutely lovely to meet you.”

Olivia considers, and then throws herself forward, into Jackie’s arms. Jackie catches her, tears welling in her eyes, and Tyler has to look away and clear his throat.

“Is—um, Olivia’s got the room you usually sleep in, but you can have either of the other two,” he says. “Do you care which?”

Jackie shakes her head, careful like she doesn’t want to dislodge Olivia. Tyler already knows it’s nearly impossible to budge Olivia if she doesn’t want to be, but he’ll let his mother figure that out for herself. He takes her bags upstairs and puts them in the guest room opposite his room.

When he gets back downstairs, Olivia is sitting at the counter, talking at high speed while Jackie looks through the fridge.

“And then I played with the dogs and showed them my slapshot, and then Tyler and Uncle Jamie let me pick out my room and we unpacked my stuff and then we went out for Efeopean and _ice cream_.” Olivia’s face drops. “I cried in the ice cream store and upset Tyler.”

“What? No!” Tyler says. He rushes to her, tilting her pointed chin up. “You didn’t upset me. I was _worried_ about you. But I wasn’t upset. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Olivia’s mouth works but she nods. “And then we came home and I got scared in the night and Tyler let me sleep with him and Marshall.”

Tyler catches Jackie’s amused eye. “Just for the night,” he says defensively. “She’d had a really rough day.”

“Olivia, how do you feel about pancakes?” Jackie asks, and Olivia lights up.

It’s easy, after that. Tyler can sit back, watch the way his mother treats Olivia—gently, with care for the obvious trauma she’s been through, but also briskly, with purpose, the way she approaches everything in life. It’s good, he thinks, taking mental notes as Jackie and Olivia argue about the inclusion of vegetables in the scrambled eggs Jackie is making.

“I don’t _want_ them,” Olivia says, storms brewing in her eyes.

Jackie, slicing mushrooms, raises an eyebrow. “Tyler tells me you want to be a hockey player.”

There’s a mutinous silence, as if Olivia knows where she’s going with this.

“Tyler, what do hockey players eat?” Jackie asks sweetly.

“Protein,” Tyler says, hiding his smile. Why hadn’t he thought of that yesterday? “Lots and lots of protein, and… vegetables.”

Olivia sighs, tiny shoulders slumping.

The scrambled eggs have cheese, onion, mushrooms, and spinach in them, and they’re delicious. Olivia eats every bite and accepts a second helping when it’s offered.

The doorbell rings as they’re cleaning up the breakfast mess and Tyler runs to answer it. Jamie’s standing there grinning at him. He opens his mouth to speak and is sharply hipchecked by Jordie, who barges into the house before Tyler can react.

“Where is she?” he demands. “I gotta meet this mini Tyler. Is she as ugly as you?” He dismisses that. “Not possible. Is she in the kitchen?” He heads that way without giving Tyler time to answer.

“How….” Tyler says, staring after him.

“Sorry,” Jamie says, rubbing his hip. “He’s been unbearable since I told him. Got a flight down last night. We should probably—”

“Go make sure he’s not corrupting my daughter?” Tyler says. “Good thinking.”

They find Jordie in the kitchen, staring at Olivia, who looks thunderstruck.

“Oh my god she _does_ look just like you,” Jordie breathes. “Olivia, I’m Jordie, the handsome Benn brother. Is Tyler treating you okay? Blink twice if you need me to rescue—”

“Why is there so much _hair_ on your face?” Olivia interrupts.

Tyler can’t stop the laughter and doesn’t try. He clings to Jamie and _howls_ as Jordie straightens, attempting to regain his dignity.

“Definitely your daughter,” he says. “Hi Mrs. Seguin, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Shouldn’t you be in Montreal?” Jackie asks, her lips twitching.

Jordie shrugs. “Seggy’s my friend too, and the season hasn’t started. I wanted to be here to offer moral support.” He makes a face. “Ugh. Emotions. Gross.”

“How long can you stay?” Tyler asks, his throat tight. Jamie rubs his back silently.

“Flying back out tomorrow. Figured I’d go to the rink with you guys today, say hi to everyone.”

Olivia perks up. “Rink? Are you gonna skate?”

“May even play a little hockey,” Jordie tells her with a wink. “You wanna come watch, sprout?”

Olivia’s about to vibrate right off her stool as she looks at Tyler and then Jackie as if unsure who to ask permission from.

Jackie coughs. “I can come with her, if you want. Let her watch some practice and then maybe take her shopping after?”

Tyler looks at Olivia and knows there’s no way he can say no to that face. “But the guys can be a little… rough,” he warns her as she squeals with delight. “They might scare you.”

Olivia tilts her chin. “But you’ll be there too.” That seems to be all there is to say on the matter, and Tyler has to turn away, clearing his throat.

“I’m gonna… go get ready,” he says vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen, and escapes upstairs. It takes him a minute to realize Jamie’s followed him up.

“You look a little less like you’ve been hit by a train this morning,” he says, sitting down on Tyler’s bed.

Tyler averts his eyes from _that_ sight and shrugs, pulling clothes out of the dresser. “I’m… dealing. Shit.” He stiffens. “I gotta tell Jim first. Should I call him or go by his office when we get there?”

“Call him,” Jamie advises, so Tyler sits down beside him, still not thinking about Jamie in his bed, and dials Jim Nill’s number.

“Tyler!”

His GM always seems delighted to hear from him, like he genuinely likes Tyler and looks forward to their conversations. It makes it easier for Tyler to take a deep breath and blurt out, “So apparently I have a daughter.”

Dead silence on the line, and Tyler shifts his weight, glancing at Jamie.

“Congratulations?” Jim finally offers, his voice careful. “I thought you were single. When… how….”

“I am. Single, I mean. She, um. Boston, after we won the Cup?”

“Ah. And you’re just now telling me?”

“I just now found _out_ ,” Tyler says. “I would have said—I would have told you, I swear.”

“I see.” Jim is silent for a minute, considering in the way he has. “So what’s the deal?”

Tyler tells him everything, the letter and Stephanie’s illness and her reluctance to leave Olivia with her own parents. “She said—” He swallows. “She said I was good. And that Olivia would be safe with me.”

“You are, and she will, if that’s what you want,” Jim says.

“What I—what does that mean?”

“I just mean there are options,” Jim says soothingly. “You being thrown in the deep end of the single parent pool isn’t the only course of action here.”

“Do the other _options_ include taking her away? Giving her up for adoption or to Stephanie’s parents?” Tyler’s throat is tight and he wants to punch something.

“Maybe your mother would take her,” Jim says carefully.

“ _No,_ ” Tyler explodes. He’s on his feet, not sure how he got there, fury blinding him. “I’m not—not giving her away or passing her off like she’s something to get rid of. She _needs_ me. And I know I’m not responsible and _mature_ and whatever, maybe she _would_ be better off with someone else, but Stephanie asked _me._ ” He stops, swallowing hard, as Jamie rises to his feet, eyes sympathetic.

“That’s all I needed to know,” Jim says, and he sounds warm. Approving. “I’ll let the appropriate departments know. I take it you’re not going to hide her existence or pretend she’s a niece or cousin?”

“No,” Tyler says simply. Jamie’s standing in front of him, just watching, and Tyler steels himself against the urge to step into his arms again.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Jim says, and when he hangs up, Tyler lets out a huge breath.

Jamie’s still standing there but he looks… unhappy.

“It’s okay,” Tyler tells him. “Jim’s cool with it.”

Jamie shakes his head. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get so down on yourself,” Jamie says. “The only one saying you’re not responsible and mature is you.”

“And every media outlet from here to Boston,” Tyler flings at him.

Jamie doesn’t flinch. “They don’t matter. Your friends, your _family,_ we know the truth. _Stephanie_ knew it, Segs, after being with you for one night. So don’t you think you should start listening to us, and stop believing the media?”

Tyler can’t breathe. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, gulping for air. “I’ve fucked up so much,” he manages.

Jamie’s hand is warm on his arm as he pulls Tyler against him. “You won’t fuck this up,” he says, and the calm certainty in his voice makes the tears in Tyler’s eyes sting harder.

There are footsteps outside, and then Jordie’s voice.

“Are we going or what?” He stops dead in the doorway as Tyler hastily steps back, out of Jamie’s arms. Delight dawns on his face and Jamie points at him.

“No.”

“Oh _yes,_ ” Jordie says, grinning. “Is this finally happening? Can I _finally_ collect on my bet with Rads?”

“ _Noth_ _ing_ is happening,” Jamie says, sharp and vicious. “Except you fucking off downstairs to wait for us.”

He shuts the door in Jordie’s face and turns back to Tyler. “Sorry, I thought he’d dropped that stupid idea of his.”

“So stupid,” Tyler agrees. He’s distantly proud of keeping his voice steady, but he can’t look at Jamie’s face. Instead he holds up his change of clothes. “Gonna, um—” He escapes to the bathroom.

Inside, the door closed, he braces his hands on the counter and stares at his reflection. “So stupid,” he whispers.

 

Olivia chatters the whole way to the rink, telling Jordie all about her skating lessons and how she’s going to play pro hockey.

“Who are your favorite players?” Jordie prompts.

“Tyler, duh,” Olivia says, rolling her eyes as if that was a given. “And Sidney Crosby, and Uncle Jamie.”

“Uncle Jamie,” Jordie says, turning to look at Jamie, who’s staring determinedly out the window. “ _Uncle_ Jamie. It fits you, Chubbs.” He leans into Olivia’s space. “But what about me?”

Olivia shrugs. “You’re okay, I guess.”

Tyler can’t stifle the snort as Jordie clutches his chest, mortally wounded.

“I’ll just have to change your mind on that,” he says. “Because I’m the best, and these two chumps—” He gestures at Tyler and Jamie. “—got nothing on me. I’ll give you Crosby though.”

“Mama took me to a Penguins game once!” Olivia tells him. “We were really far away but I could see Sid on the great big screen, and Geno got in a _fight_!”

“Ever seen the Stars play?” Jordie asks.

Olivia shakes her head regretfully. “I wanted to, but Mama said she couldn’t afford it. She looked so sad, so I stopped asking.” She brightens. “We watched all your games on the tv, though! At least last season. Before that I was little and didn’t understand much.”

Jordie appears fascinated. “You’re not little now?”

Olivia gives him a scornful look. “I’m _six,_ ” she says in withering tones.

Jamie grins at Tyler, soft and private between them. “This kid is great,” he says, voice pitched low under Olivia and Jordie’s conversation.

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “She kind of is.”

 

Jackie’s followed behind them in Jamie’s truck. After practice, they decided, she’s going to take Olivia shopping in Tyler’s car while Tyler rides home with Jamie.

Olivia’s bouncing on her toes the second she’s out of the car, tugging on Tyler’s hand to make him walk faster.

Jackie laughs, beside him. “You were just like that at her age,” she says fondly. “Bursting with energy and unable to contain it.”

“C’moooon,” Olivia whines, pulling harder. “You’re walking so _slow._ ”

Inside the stadium, though, she gets quiet, and crowds close to Tyler’s leg. He bends to see her face, which she’s tucked against his thigh.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You okay?”

Olivia nods wordlessly but she doesn’t let go. Tyler can’t really walk with her clinging to his leg, so he swings her up into his arms.

“Better?” he asks.

Olivia loops her arms around his neck and beams at him. “Better,” she agrees.

The first person they see is Spezza, walking out of the dressing room with a towel draped around his neck. He sees Tyler, opens his mouth to greet him, then does a comic double-take at Olivia on his hip.

“You—uh.”

“Olivia, this is Jason Spezza. Don’t believe a word he says about me.”

Olivia waves.

Spezza looks thunderstruck. He waves back, mouth working but nothing coming out. Jamie steps up beside him and whispers something in his ear. Spezza’s eyes shoot wide.

“Holy _shit_!”

Tyler immediately covers Olivia’s ears, glaring at him, as Spezza goes bright red and apologizes.

“That’s a bad word!” Olivia chirps.

“It sure is,” Tyler agrees, still glaring. “The rest of the guys in there?”

Spezza nods, still staring at Olivia.

“I’ll go in first,” Jamie says. “Make sure they’re decent.”

He slips through the doors as Jordie joins them and Spezza’s eyes somehow get even bigger.

“You’re here too?”

“Like I’d miss this,” Jordie scoffs.

“Spezza’s a center, like me,” Tyler tells her. He’s not sure how solid her hockey knowledge is, at six years old. “He plays on Uncle Jamie’s line a lot.”

Spezza’s eyes are bulging at this point. _Uncle Jamie_ , he mouths to Jordie.

Jamie puts his head through the door. “All clear, come on in.”

Tyler walks into a bubble of silence. Most of his team is there, in various states of undress, but thankfully no one’s naked. And they’re all staring at him. Or rather, they’re all staring at Olivia, who’s put her head down on Tyler’s shoulder at the full force of the attention trained on her.

“Guys, this is Olivia. Olivia, these are my friends.” He clears his throat. “Olivia’s, um. My daughter. She came to live with me yesterday. So, like… you’ll probably be seeing a lot of her. Also she loves hockey and she came to watch us practice, so don’t let me down out there.”

No one says a word. Tyler shifts his weight, unsure what to say. Spezza, Jordie, and Jamie are behind him, Spezza whispering urgently in Jamie’s ear.

Val breaks the silence first, rising to offer a big hand to Olivia. “Valeri Nichushkin,” he tells her when she hesitantly accepts it, and gives her a gallant little bow. Tyler could kiss him. “Can call me Val.” He smiles. “You look like your papa.”

With that, the dam bursts and the others crowd around to introduce themselves. Olivia is clearly bowled over by the amount of attention, and she clings even tighter to Tyler’s neck, but she doesn’t seem afraid, so Tyler stands still and answers questions from the team for her.

“Six. She’s from Boston. No, she’s not a Bruins fan. I’ll explain later. _Later_.”

Ben comes over toward the end, and Olivia gasps.

“You’re _so tall_ ,” she marvels.

“Ben’s a goalie,” Tyler tells her. “Helps him stop a lot of pucks, being so tall.”

“Plus if you ride on my shoulders, you can touch the ceiling,” Ben says.

Montgomery shows up then, pushing through the doors. He’s clearly been warned, as there’s no surprise on his face as he strides up to Tyler and Olivia.

“This is our coach,” Tyler says. “He’s very nice, I promise, but he sometimes yells at us.”

“Only when you don’t listen, which is always,” Montgomery retorts, but he smiles at Olivia. “Nice to meet you, kiddo. It’s time for the boys to get out on the ice.”

Tyler takes the not very subtle hint and turns to find Jackie, who waited in the hall. She collects Olivia and they wave goodbye to him as he dives back into the dressing room to change.

And is immediately pounced on by several very large men, all wanting to know what the _fuck_ is going on.

“I didn’t know until yesterday,” Tyler says over and over. Spezza’s looking a little manic, Val mostly confused, and Ben is grinning openly. “It was a one night stand thing, okay? Happened in Boston. The mother never told me, never told anyone until she got sick.”

That shuts them up briefly.

“Wait, hang on.” Klingberg is clearly doing math in his head. “You said she’s Six. Born when?”

“March.”

Klingberg’s mouth drops open. “ _Segs_. You had a Stanley Cup baby!”

“Not intentionally!” Tyler protests, but no one seems to hear him, everyone talking over each other.

It takes Montgomery using the whistle to shut them up. “Not that this isn’t fun,” he says, “but we really do have practice. So get your asses in gear, maybe?”

 

They hit the ice and Tyler spots Olivia and Jackie immediately, sitting up against the glass. Tyler pulls a face at Olivia as he skates by, getting a giggle from her, and then Coach’s whistle blows and it’s time to get to work.

Tyler’s awareness shrinks to the ice under his blades, the puck on his stick and the burn of his muscles as he powers through the drills. He’s sweating and exhausted when Coach calls them in to complain about the holes in their defense for awhile before sending them off to cool down.

Jackie and Olivia are waiting in the hall.

“She didn’t get bored once,” Jackie tells him.

Olivia grins up at him. “You were _great_ ,” she says.

Tyler grins back, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “I’ve gotta cool down and shower and then we have strategy stuff. Mom?”

“I’ve got her for the rest of the day,” Jackie says. “We’ll see you at home.”

When Tyler walks into the showers, Jordie and Jamie are already in there, and they’re arguing.

“—Telling _you,_ it’s not like that,” Jamie snaps.

“Really?” Jordie demands, up in his brother’s face. “Because from where I was standing—” He catches sight of Tyler and cuts himself off. “Think about what I said.”

Jamie looks around and sees Tyler. A muscle in his jaw jumps but there’s something considering in his eyes.

Jordie groans. “You are the most stubborn, stupid, pigheaded—” He throws his hands in the air and stalks out of the showers.

Tyler hangs up his towel and steps under the spray. “What was all that about?”

“Nothing,” Jamie says, his voice clipped.

 

Jordie drags Tyler aside after the strategy session. “We’re going out,” he announces.

This brings protests from several people, all of whom want to dig as many details of Tyler’s new situation out of him as possible. Jordie growls at them.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, and I want to spend time with my friend,” he says. “You buzzards can have him later,” and he stalks away, pulling Tyler along behind him.

Tyler puts up a protest most of the way, but truth be told, he’s relieved to be away from the team’s questions. Jordie holds up Jamie’s keys.

“We’re going for nachos, and we’re going to talk,” he says, and the glint in his eye bodes no good for man nor beast.

The ride to Jordie’s favorite nacho joint is silent. Tyler spends it on his phone. Jackie’s sending him pictures of Olivia trying on clothes, others of them in the food court of the mall, and Tyler can’t help but smile as he flicks through them.

A text from Jamie pops up. _Sorry._

 _For what?_ Tyler sends back.

_My brother, mostly._

Tyler doesn’t answer. He’s not sure what he’d say, in any case, but they’ve arrived and Jordie’s waiting for him to get out.

Inside, they place their orders and sit down.

“First things first,” Jordie says. “That kid is adorable and you’re gonna be a great father.”

Tyler gapes at him. That’s not even in the _realm_ of things he was expecting to hear, and he has no idea how to respond.

Jordie waves a hand, looking disgusted. “I’m not going to repeat myself but I said what I said. Now.” He flattens his hands on the table and leans forward, holding Tyler’s gaze. “We’re talking about Jamie.”

“Nope,” Tyler says immediately. “No, we are not. That’s a thing we’re very much not talking about.”

“Yes,” Jordie says. “We are. How long have you been in love with him, Segs?”

Tyler slumps forward, folding his arms on the table and hiding his face in them. “Fuck my life,” he moans.

“Don’t change the subject,” Jordie says. “Because when I left, I knew you were crushing on him—hell, most of Dallas knew you were crushing on him, I imagine.”

Tyler jerks his head up to glare at him.

“But this—” Jordie shakes his head. “This is different. This isn’t a crush. Or… it’s more than a crush.”

Their food arrives and Tyler struggles to marshal his thoughts.

“It’s just, like… hero worship,” he says weakly after a few minutes.

“Bullshit,” Jordie says around the chip he’s shoved in his mouth. “Hero worship tends to fade with proximity. I’m pretty sure your heart-eyes can be seen from _space_ , pal.”

“Shut the fuck _up_ ,” Tyler pleads, but Jordie is unmoved.

“You have to tell him, man.”

“ _No_.” Tyler clenches his fists, suddenly panicked. “No, I can’t, I _won’t_.”

Now Jordie looks sympathetic. “This is your alternative? Pining for him? Wishing for what you can’t have?”

“It’s better than not having him at all,” Tyler spits, and scrubs at his face. When he drops his hands, Jordie’s regarding him seriously.

“You really do love him.” It’s not a question.

“Have for a while, yeah.” It’s a relief, somehow, to finally say it aloud, to admit to the open air and someone who won’t reject him that he’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back.

Jordie shakes his head and picks up another chip. “My brother is a fucking dumbass.”

“He’s _not_ ,” Tyler says instantly. “It’s not his fault.”

Jordie rolls his eyes. “For not seeing what’s under his nose? He’s supposed to be the fucking _captain_ , and he’s so oblivious it’s embarrassing!”

“Jamie doesn’t….” Tyler stops and takes a breath. “Jamie loves me. I know he does. Maybe not the way I want him to, but that’s okay, because it’s still something. I’d be a fool to ask for more, not when I know he can’t give it.”

“ _How_ do you know he can’t give it?” Jordie demands.

Tyler meets his eyes, steadier now. “Because if he could, he would have by now.”

Jordie sighs. “You’re giving him way more credit than he deserves, Segs.” His eyes sharpen. “Or maybe you’re giving yourself _less_ credit.”

“Do not,” Tyler warns.

“Is this a self-sacrificing thing?” Jordie asks. “Oh my god it is, isn’t it? You think you’re like, not good enough for the golden boy, so you’re never going to tell him how you really feel.” He sits back in his chair, looking stunned. “I can’t believe I cracked the code.”

“Stop it,” Tyler hisses. “Just fucking _stop it_.”

But Jordie shakes his head. “I’m your friend too. I’m one of your best friends and you know it. And that means sometimes I have to say stuff you don’t want to hear.” He leans forward again. “Whatever shit you did in your past, it’s in your past. It’s not you anymore. It hasn’t been you in a long time. You deserve love, goddammit, and I won’t sit by and watch you sacrifice yourself like this.” He makes another face. “I can’t _believe_ you’re making me talk out emotions. You’re so buying lunch.”

Tyler stuffs a chip in his face and doesn’t respond. This doesn’t seem to deter Jordie at all.

“When are you going to forgive yourself?” he asks quietly. “When is enough enough?”

Tyler’s traitorous eyes sting and he blinks hard. “When I stop thinking about the people I’ve hurt,” he whispers.

“Who’d you hurt, Tyler?” Jordie’s eyes are intense suddenly. “Hm? Because from where I sit, I saw a kid who helped his team win a Stanley fucking Cup _despite_ liking to party too much. Did you ever hit anyone, off-ice? Hurt someone physically?”

“No,” Tyler says, shaking his head. “No, I—” He swallows hard. “I've never been able to keep a relationship. Sooner or later they see through me, see _me_." Unbidden, he remembers Matt's face, eyes wide with shock and hurt. "Anytime anyone gets close, I panic and push them away because it's better than them seeing who I really am."

Jordie looks sympathetic, listening silently.

Tyler gulps and continues. "I let them down. The Bruins. My parents. My fans. I let the fame go to my head and I forgot what I was there for, and I—” It’s hard to breathe. “I fucked it all up. They posted a _guard_ outside my door during the playoffs, Jordie.”

“And you still won that goddamn Cup,” Jordie says. “And then _they_ gave you away.”

“Please stop,” Tyler whispers. He has a horrible feeling he’s going to start crying in the middle of the restaurant.

Jordie seems to realize this. “Let’s talk about your kid,” he says. “How soon can you get her into a hockey program?”

“She’ll be enrolled in one before I find her a school, probably,” Tyler says, managing a smile.

Jordie shakes his head. “Can’t believe you have a kid. This is gonna either be awesome or terrifying. Possibly both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably preemptively apologize to any Bruins fans reading this. I need to dial up the angst (it's who I AM) and that meant taking some creative liberties with Tyler's past. No harm or ill-will is intended!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating bumped, take note. Is that sexual tension I sense?

Jamie’s waiting when they get back to the rink. He climbs in the back, glances at Tyler, then stiffens and leans over the seat to look at him.

“What?” Tyler says. “Something on my face?”

“Are you okay?” Jamie says quietly.

Tyler freezes. Jordie’s sitting _right there_ , and Jamie’s up in Tyler’s space, clearly aware he’s upset.

“Can we—not now,” he begs, and he’s really getting tired of pleading with the Benn brothers, but Jamie seems to accept it and sits back.

Jordie says nothing, but he starts the truck with a distinctly self-satisfied air that makes Tyler want to punch him just a little bit.

This feeling intensifies when they get back to Tyler’s house to realize that Jackie and Olivia are still out.

“Oh,” Jordie says casually. “I left something at your place, Chubbs. I’m gonna run over and get it, I’ll be back in time for dinner.” And then he’s gone and Tyler and Jamie are staring at each other.

“Sorry,” Tyler says nonsensically, and heads up the path.

“Why are you apologizing for _my_ brother?” Jamie says, right behind him. “And while we’re on the subject, what did he say to you that upset you so bad?”

Tyler’s shoulders climb up around his ears and he bends to greet the dogs, doing his best to ignore Jamie, who’s standing there waiting a response.

“You guys wanna go out?” he asks them. “Go outside, run and play? Maybe we should go swimming?”

“ _Tyler_.”

Tyler straightens.

Jamie looks miserable, fidgeting with the hem of his T-shirt. “Talk to me?” he says, and all Tyler wants is to kiss him into smiles again, make his eyes crease up at the corners the way they do when he’s really happy.

So he backs away, heading down the hall to let the dogs into the backyard. They charge outside and Tyler stands for a second and watches them. When he turns, Jamie’s right behind him and Tyler nearly runs face-first into him.

Jamie catches him with a hand on his elbow and the other on his waist but he doesn’t move back. Tyler’s pinned between the glass door and Jamie’s solid bulk, and Jamie… isn’t backing away.

Tyler licks his lips and Jamie’s eyes follow the motion, darkening. His hand is big and warm on Tyler’s ribs, thumb stroking slowly, almost absently, across the fabric. Jamie looks into Tyler’s eyes, then back to his mouth, and Tyler can almost see the decision crystallize in his head. He’s going to do it, and Tyler’s going to let him. Fuck, he’s on the verge of begging for it.

The front door opens and Olivia shouts something happily from the yard.

Jamie lets go instantly, putting three feet of space between them. He’s on the other side of the kitchen when Jackie walks in and Tyler’s still sagging against the door.

She looks back and forth between them. “Everything okay?”

Jamie nods, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Yes ma’am. Everything is, uh. Great.”

“Good. Then you can help me get stuff out of the car.” She raises an eyebrow at Tyler. “Both of you.”

Tyler manages to drag his brain back online and straightens. Outside, he stops at the sight of his car, stuffed to the brim with packages, bags, and boxes.

“Holy sh—did you buy several stores?” he asks Jackie, who’s come out for another armful.

Olivia tugs on Tyler’s leg. “Tyler _look_.” She spins in a circle, making the frilly skirt of her dress fly out and showing off the heavy black boots she’s got on underneath.

Tyler applauds. “ _Very_ nice,” he says when she stumbles to a stop, out of breath. “Absolutely gorgeous. I especially dig the boots with the dress, perfect combination.”

Olivia dimples. “Gramma Jackie and I bought me clothes. And stuff for my room. You wanna see it?”

“Gramma Jackie, huh?” Tyler smiles at his mom and then flinches as Jamie bumps into him on his way up the path. It’s not much contact but it’s enough to remind him—he clears his throat and scoops up as much as he can carry, staggering and groaning under the weight for Olivia’s amusement.

It takes a while to get everything in, sorted, and put away. Jackie tells Tyler to be expecting furniture deliveries in the next few days.

“We picked out what she wanted together. I think you’ll like it.” She claps her hands. “Who’s hungry?”

Tyler sends Jordie a quick text— _my mom’s back, asshole, get over here I’m mad at you_ —and follows her into the kitchen.

“Please don’t cook,” he says as she opens the refrigerator.

Jackie gives him a look. “You’ve never complained about my cooking before. Wait, that’s not true.”

Tyler can’t help his snicker at that. “No, seriously. You’ve been on your feet all day. Jamie and I are beat too. Why don’t we just order in? We can get anything you want, and no one has to cook except the people we’re paying.”

Jackie seems faintly relieved at the idea. They discuss menus and place an order. Tyler throws in an entree for Jordie he knows Jordie hates, just on general principle, and then he brings the dogs back inside and they all head to the living room to wait for the food.

Olivia claims the settee for herself, and Gerry gets up on it with her, his head on her ribs. She has Ferguson tucked into her elbow and she’s dividing her conversation between the anteater and Gerry equally. Gerry seems enthralled, darting his tongue out to lick her face when she pauses.

Jackie settles in a recliner, so Tyler kicks off his shoes and collapses on the sofa, leaving the other recliner for Jamie. He’s entirely unprepared for Jamie to pick up his feet and sit down on the end of the sofa, pulling Tyler’s feet into his lap.

Tyler jerks his head up but Jamie isn’t even looking at him, one forearm resting on Tyler’s ankle as he thumbs through his phone with his free hand.

“So, Tyler,” Jackie says.

Tyler twists sideways to look at her. She’s smiling at him.

“I’m going to help you find a nanny for Olivia over the next week or so. I’ll want you there for the interviews, because it’s important for you to mesh with whoever we pick as much as Olivia. Do you want a live-in or part-time?”

Tyler thinks about it, or tries to, as Jamie begins absently stroking his ankle with one thumb. He shifts, willing himself not to react.

“Um. With my schedule… probably better to have a live-in, don’t you think? Especially since some weeks I’ll be gone completely.”

“So they’ll need to be able to drive, and have a clean driving history.” Jackie’s writing on a notepad in her lap. “Preference for male or female?”

Jamie’s thumb stills briefly.

“Whoever fits best,” Tyler tells Jackie honestly. “It’s about what works. I don’t care who they are or what they look like, as long as they pass a background check, have good references, and sign an NDA.”

Jamie’s thumb starts up again. He hasn’t looked at Tyler yet, seeming absorbed in whatever he’s reading on his phone, but he’s got one hand wrapped almost entirely around Tyler’s ankle, and Tyler can’t _think_.

He hears Jamie’s truck in the driveway, and Jamie’s hand leaves his ankle just as Jordie appears in the doorway.

“Hey sprout!” he says to Olivia. “Didja get a lot of good stuff?”

“So much!” Olivia tells him, bouncing upright. “Wanna see?”

Jordie follows her upstairs and Jamie’s hand returns to Tyler’s leg, this time a little farther up, as Jackie gets up too.

“I’m going to set out plates for dinner,” she announces.

When she’s gone, the room is quiet. Tyler has his phone out, ostensibly looking at it, but all he can process is the feel of Jamie’s palm on his shin, the slow trace of a finger along his calf muscle.

Jamie _still_ hasn’t looked at him. His brow is furrowed as he reads something. Tyler wants to jerk away, snap at him to stop. He wants to melt into his hands and tell Jamie to keep going. He’s frozen, and he realizes with horror that Jamie’s hand is inching higher, and Tyler’s getting hard.

He rolls off the couch so fast he nearly lands on Marshall, napping on the floor at Jamie’s feet, and scrambles upright.

Jamie blinks up at him, looking confused. “Something wrong?”

Tyler straightens his shirt. “Gonna… go help Mom.” He escapes, knowing he left his dignity back in the living room but unable to care.

But it doesn’t stop there. All evening long, Jamie finds reasons to get close to Tyler, to let a hand graze over his lower back, or touch his knee, or bump into his shoulder as he’s passing behind him. He sits next to him while they eat and presses their legs together, but when Tyler looks over, Jamie’s focused on his food or bantering with Jordie.

It’s driving Tyler up the fucking _wall_ . He’s strung tight with nerves and anticipation, wondering where Jamie’s going to touch him next, what excuse he’ll come up with. If Tyler calls him on it, he’ll acknowledge that something’s going on between them, and he’s—he’s terrified. He doesn’t know what Jamie’s doing, or _why_ he’s doing it. All he knows is he doesn’t hear a word of the dinner conversation, eating mindlessly and trying not to jump out of his skin every time Jamie touches him.

Olivia begins rubbing her eyes and yawning halfway through dinner, but manages to stay awake until she’s cleaned her plate.

“I can take her, Mom,” Tyler says, when Jackie gets up, but she smiles at him.

“Let me? I’m not going to have many chances.”

Tyler settles back into his chair as Jackie shepherds Olivia upstairs. Jordie’s looking at him over his glass of wine, eyes amused, and Tyler glares at him, which just makes Jordie’s smile widen.

“So when are you leaving?” Tyler asks, just to be a dick.

“In the morning,” Jordie sighs. “Gotta get back to whipping the Habs into shape.”

“Good luck with that,” Jamie comments, leaning across Tyler to steal something off Jordie’s plate and balancing himself with a hand on Tyler’s thigh.

Tyler closes his eyes and prays for patience. When he opens them, Jamie is innocently eating whatever he stole and Jordie is openly laughing at him. _Fuck you_ , Tyler mouths where Jamie can't see. Jordie blows him a kiss.

“You have to try this,” Jamie says, and holds out the fork to Tyler, who’s had enough.

He stands abruptly and starts picking up plates. When he heads for the kitchen, Jamie, of course, follows him.

Arousal is slipping into anger, a frustrated hum in Tyler’s veins. Does Jamie think this is a game to him? He drops the plates in the sink a little too roughly and turns to find Jamie right behind him again.

“Move,” Tyler says.

Jamie’s eyebrows go up and then his eyes narrow. He leans past Tyler and sets his plate in the sink and then brings his other hand up and rests it on the counter, effectively trapping Tyler in his arms.

“You gonna make me?” he purrs.

The anger boils over into white-hot fury all of a sudden and Tyler _shoves_ Jamie’s chest, hard.

Jamie stumbles backward, shock rounding his eyes.

“I am _not playing this game_ ,” Tyler hisses, and stalks out of the kitchen.

He heads straight upstairs to say goodnight to Olivia, who’s dressed in her pajamas and curling up in her bed. She looks a little uncertain about sleeping alone, so small in the too-big bed, and Tyler has a sudden idea.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down on the bed beside her as Jackie putters around the room, picking up and straightening. “How would you like it if one of the dogs slept with you?”

“Oh yes,” Olivia says, clasping her hands. “Please can it be Gerry?”

“I had a feeling you’d want him,” Tyler tells her with a wink. He whistles and all three dogs come thundering up the stairs. Fending off the other two, Tyler motions Gerry up onto the bed, where he bathes Olivia’s face with rapturous kisses as she giggles but doesn’t do much to fend him off. “Down, Gerry,” Tyler tells him.

Gerry collapses obediently to the bed and wags his tail, thumping it against the mattress. Olivia already looks more settled, clutching Ferguson in one arm. Tyler sits down beside her again.

“Better?”

Olivia nods. “I like Gramma Jackie,” she says through a yawn.

“She likes you too,” Tyler says. He gives into impulse and strokes her soft hair off her forehead.

Olivia snuggles into her pillows. “I like _you_ ,” she announces, her eyes half-closed.

Tyler’s breath catches. “I like you too,” he whispers, and Olivia smiles and falls asleep.

Tyler motions to Gerry to stay and tiptoes from the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Jordie, Jamie, and Jackie are all talking downstairs when he rejoins them. Tyler, still on edge and frustrated with Jamie, deliberately chooses the farthest seat from him to start a conversation with Jordie about the sad state of the Habs’ defense.

“Price can only do so much,” Tyler says.

Jordie halfheartedly kicks at him. “You wait and see. I’m turning that team around all by myself if I have to.”

Jamie is talking to Jackie, but he keeps shooting looks at Tyler, who ignores them.

Finally, Jackie makes her excuses and goes to bed, giving both Benn brothers hugs before she goes.

With her gone, Tyler suddenly doesn’t know what to do.

“I should sleep too,” he says, too abruptly. “Jordie, you’re an asshole. Thanks for coming down to be backup.” He pulls Jordie into a hug because no matter how irritated he is with his meddling, Tyler knows they don’t get much better than Jordie Benn.

Jordie hugs him back. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he whispers, and Tyler groans and pushes him away.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he says, but he’s smiling as he follows them to the door.

Jordie steps through and Jamie moves like lightning, shutting him out and spinning in one smooth motion to catch Tyler’s shirt and shove him against the wall.

Tyler’s breath sputters and dies as Jamie leans close, his eyes dark and unwavering on Tyler’s face.

“This is _not a game_ ,” he growls. He lets go just as fast and steps out the door, leaving Tyler trying to stay upright with watery knees.

 

He sleeps like shit, of course, jolting awake at every sound until he wants to scream his frustration. He finally rolls over and shoves a hand down his pants. It’s embarrassing how quickly it happens, to the thought of Jamie’s big body covering him, his mouth on Tyler’s—he spills silently into his palm, eyes squeezed shut as he shakes through the aftershocks.

When he’s cleaned up, he finds himself closer to sleep, yawning as he curls up under the covers. _This is not a game_ , Jamie had said. He wasn’t fucking with Tyler’s head for the hell of it, not that Tyler had ever really believed he would.

He doesn’t know what changed, or how, but it boils down to this—Tyler trusts his captain. He falls asleep looking forward to the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a little thrown off my groove yesterday when my ex pointed out a BFP (Big Fucking Plothole) in my planned story. So I had to do some tweaking. (Yes, I run plotlines past my ex, he's very good at spotting flaws.) Plus today is insane at work, so I'm a little slower at everything. But I think I wrestled it all back under control! (Stay tuned.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for child in distress, missing their deceased parent

But he barely sees Jamie the next day, so swept up in getting Olivia sorted, taking furniture deliveries, helping his mother look at schools and figure out schedules. Jamie smiles at him in the dressing room, brushes against him on the way to the shower, but they don’t have time to talk.

That’s fine. Tyler can wait. He’s waited this long, after all.

By afternoon, Olivia is crabby and fretful. The house has had a near constant stream of people through it, working on her room and coming for interviews, and Tyler can tell, now, that she’s nearing the end of her rope.

So he makes an executive decision, grabs his iPad and scoops her up, whistling for the dogs.

They head out into the backyard, Olivia blinking in the bright sun but not protesting.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you might want a break,” Tyler tells her. Olivia’s hair is soft against his cheek, and she smells like strawberries from the shampoo Jackie bought her.

They walk through the yard to the gate on the far side, where the dogs are already waiting. They know this routine, and Tyler feels guilty for neglecting it with them lately.

Outside the yard, he lets Olivia down but she reaches up for his hand. The woods are peaceful around them, birds chirping and a squirrel chattering somewhere up ahead at the dogs. Tyler had bought his house partly because of the location—acres and acres of state park backed up to his yard, miles of trails he likes to run with the dogs early in the morning, before the sun burns off the mist.

It’s cool under the trees, or at least bearable. Olivia’s perked up as well, looking around with interest as they walk the trail. Tyler takes a right turn down a smaller path.

“This is my favorite hidey-hole,” he says, holding a branch aside so she can duck under it. The trees’ branches mesh together above them, forming a lacy green canopy over the small clearing where Cash and Marshall are already rolling blissfully in the grass while Gerry chases down an interesting smell on the perimeter.

“Oh,” Olivia breathes.

“Even extroverts need time alone sometimes,” Tyler says. “This is where I go.”

“What’s an ex—extro—”

“Extrovert,” Tyler says, sitting down in a patch of shade. “It’s someone who likes a lot of people around them.”

“I like people,” Olivia says, flopping down cross-legged beside him. “But they get so _loud_ sometimes.”

“They sure do,” Tyler says. Without thinking, he wraps an arm around Olivia’s waist and pulls her close. “Better?”

Olivia nestles against him trustingly. “Better.”

“Do you wanna watch game tape with me?”

“Oh, _yes_!”

“I had a feeling,” Tyler says, grinning down at her. “So this is a pre-season game, I’m not in it, but since I’ve got an A, I’m expected to watch the tape and see how the rookies and call-ups are doing.”

Olivia nods very seriously, small face screwed up in concentration.

Tyler settles her against him and hits play on the iPad. He expects her to get bored within the first ten minutes, but she sticks with it much longer than that, asking questions about why a player made a certain move or hit the puck like that, and Tyler finds himself pausing to answer as in-depth as he can without getting too technical and confusing her more.

Finally, she yawns and slumps into his side, and the questions peter off. After a few minutes, Tyler realizes she’s sound asleep, her face pressed against his ribs. Tyler feels the now-familiar squeeze of his heart and he brushes a kiss to the top of her head. Then he hits play on the iPad again and goes back to watching the tape.

It’s almost dark when they get back to the house, Olivia insisting on being carried, arms around Tyler’s neck, a sleepy, heavy bundle in his arms.

Jackie fusses when she sees them—he’d texted her they were leaving, but he gets an earful about nap times and messing up her sleep schedule and paying better attention to these things. Tyler pulls a face at Olivia behind her back, making her giggle, and then solemnly promises Jackie he’ll do better.

Dinner is just the three of them, and Tyler and Olivia wash dishes while Jackie rests. Olivia gets more soap suds on her than the dishes, but they have a great time. Tyler takes a picture of her, covered in bubbles and grinning at the camera, and sends it to Jamie.

He gets a reply immediately. _Having fun without me?_

 _You could come over_ , Tyler says. And then realizes his mistake. _Wait, fuck, you can’t._

_Uh… k?_

_Sorry,_ Tyler sends. _We’ve got one more person scheduled for an interview and then it’s Olivia’s bedtime and Mom wants to talk about school shit once she’s asleep._

Jamie’s answer doesn’t take long. _I’ll see you tomorrow :)_

 _Missed you today_ , Tyler sends, and regrets it immediately.

He dies several thousand deaths before he gets Jamie’s response.

_I always miss you when we’re not together_

Tyler clutches his phone. He doesn’t know what to say.

 _See you at practice,_ Jamie sends, and Tyler puts his phone away as the doorbell rings.

He likes this one, he realizes on the spot when she steps over the threshold. She’s short, in her forties, and—round is the best way to describe her, he thinks. Round cheeks, round face, round, blue eyes and a smile that reaches from ear to ear when she spots Olivia peeking out from behind Tyler’s legs.

“Lane Gibson,” she introduces herself. Her handshake is firm and she crouches to meet Olivia’s eyes on her level. “You must be Olivia. My name is Lane.” Her tone is gentle but not patronizing, and Olivia accepts her proffered hand without hesitation. Lane straightens. “I should warn you, Mr. Seguin, I know absolutely nothing about hockey.”

“I can teach you!” Olivia pipes up.

“She could,” Tyler says, amused. “And at least you pronounced my name right.” He gives her his full-wattage smile, leaving her blinking.

“I might have looked you up on Youtube,” Lane confesses. “Not that I understood very much of what was happening.”

“I’m gonna play hockey,” Olivia tells her. “Tyler’s enrolling me in a mite league!”

“That sounds amazing!” Lane says as Jackie comes in from the living room and introduces herself.

They settle in the den to talk. Tyler watches Lane’s reaction to the dogs—positive—and the way she speaks to Olivia—calm and friendly—and the way Olivia blossoms as she tells Lane about her hockey dreams and how she got to see Sidney Crosby play. He catches his mother’s eye and gives her a subtle nod, about half an hour into the conversation, just as Olivia yawns.

Jackie takes over the conversation as Tyler takes Olivia up to bed. He’s starting to get the hang of the bedtime routine down, he thinks, coaching her through brushing her teeth and then easing a brush through her wild curls—Olivia’s least favorite part by far.

Olivia talks throughout, asking questions that Tyler answers patiently and chattering about stuff Tyler can’t follow and doesn’t really try.

“Did you like Lane?” Tyler asks as he’s tucking her into bed.

Olivia nods.

“Would you like her to take care of you when I’m not here?”

Olivia’s eyes widen. Then her lip wobbles and fat tears roll down her cheeks.

“Oh, fu—” Tyler has no idea what to do. He reaches for Olivia, hesitating—maybe she doesn’t want to be touched—but she crawls into his arms, clinging to his neck and she’s not crying, she’s _sobbing,_ heaving breaths dragged out of her lungs as Tyler holds her, helpless and bewildered.

“What did I do?” he begs her. “What did I say? Help me out, Livvy, I don’t _understand_.”

“I d-don’t w-want—” She sucks in air and wails, “ _I don’t want a new mommy_.”

Tyler’s heart cracks in half in his chest, tears springing to his own eyes. He pulls Olivia even closer, crooning in her ear.

“That’s not what I meant, she’s not replacing your mom, sweetheart, she’s just helping us! She’s going to watch you when I can’t, but your mother will _always_ be your mother, you hear me? I’m so sorry, Liv, I didn’t think—”

Olivia just clings tighter, hiccupping helplessly against Tyler’s throat, and he folds himself over her, rocking her gently back and forth until she’s cried herself out, limp and still in his lap. He’s afraid to move, afraid to disturb whatever fragile peace has been drawn over her, when she stirs.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah,” Tyler murmurs into her hair.

“You’ll still be my father, right?”

Tyler’s arms tighten so sharply Olivia makes a muffled squeak of protest. He relaxes with an effort, whispering an apology.

“Always,” he manages, his throat thick.

“Okay,” Olivia says, and falls asleep.

Tyler waits until his back is protesting the position he’s in, until he’s positive she’s asleep and not waking up anytime soon. Then he eases her into the bed, tucking her under the covers and smoothing her hair off her flushed face. She looks impossibly small, and Tyler feels panic, black and sticky, coating the back of his throat.

He makes it to the door and down the stairs, where Jackie’s puttering in the kitchen, having sent Lane home.

Tyler can’t face her. If he opens his mouth, whatever’s forming in his lungs is going to—is going to—

He grabs his keys off the rack and slips out the door. Halfway down the drive, he sends his mother a text.

_She’s asleep. Goin to Jamie’s 4 a bit._

It’s dark, but Tyler’s a good driver, careful on the curves, muscle memory keeping him controlled and steady even though he wants to shake out of his skin. He can _feel_ it clawing at his chest from the inside. He presses his foot down a little harder on the accelerator.

Most of the lights are off in Jamie’s house, but there’s one on in his bedroom. Not asleep yet then. The rush of relief propels him up the steps. He doesn’t wait for Jamie to answer, just uses his spare key and lets himself in.

Jamie must have heard his car, because he’s halfway down the hall when Tyler steps inside.

“Hey,” he says, and he’s smiling, soft and private, and for one horrible minute Tyler thinks he’s made the wrong decision, that coming here was the worst thing he could have done, but then Jamie takes in Tyler’s no doubt disheveled appearance, the way he’s got one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. Jamie’s eyes sharpen and it’s Tyler’s captain who speaks. “What happened?”

Tyler opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Olivia?” Jamie demands, and he’s already reaching for his shoes, but Tyler manages to shake his head.

“She’s okay,” he gets out.

Jamie subsides, but the worry is stark on his face now. He reaches out and Tyler takes a quick forward step, into his arms. Jamie hisses a breath as he pulls him close.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

Tyler puts his face down on Jamie’s shoulder, just like Olivia had done to him. Jamie smells so good, that hint of spicy cologne and hair gel and the cotton of his T-shirt mingling in Tyler’s lungs, and he can feel the panic receding bit by bit.

“I just… need a minute,” Tyler says vaguely, closing his eyes. Jamie seems to get it, and they stand quietly in the hall until Tyler’s breathing has slowed and the trembling has stopped.

Then Jamie takes his hand and leads him to the kitchen, where he puts him in a chair.

“Coffee, tea, or something stronger?”

Tyler doesn’t let go when Jamie tries to straighten. “Just—”

“Okay,” Jamie says, and pulls up a chair in front of Tyler’s, bracketing Tyler’s knees with his own. “Tell me when you’re ready.” He’s not touching Tyler other than with his knees, but Tyler feels safer than he has all night.

“I—we had the interview for the nanny.”

Jamie nodded, eyes intent.

“She’s nice. I think she’ll work for us. She’s great with Olivia, the dogs don’t scare her. Doesn’t know hockey but she’s supportive, you know?”

“No one’s perfect,” Jamie says, deadpan, and Tyler almost smiles.

“I was putting Olivia to bed and I asked her what she thought of Lane and if she’d be okay with Lane living with us and taking care of her.” Tyler’s throat tightens. “She—” He swallows. “She… freaked out. Thought Lane was replacing her mother, that Lane was her _new_ mother.”

“Oh shit,” Jamie breathed. “Is she okay?”

Tyler nods, jerky and uncoordinated. “She c-cried for awhile. I think… it needed to come out, maybe.”

“Cathartic,” Jamie agrees. “Poor kid. Are _you_ okay?”

 _Not remotely_. Tyler shakes his head mutely.

“Can you tell me why?” Jamie’s voice is always so gentle, and right now it’s like a feather stroking Tyler’s skin, soft and barely there.

“I can’t do this,” he blurts, and holds up a hand before Jamie can argue. “I know, we’ve had this conversation. But I can’t, Jamie, I _can’t_. I c-can’t be a father, I’m barely a functioning human being, how am I supposed to raise a _child_? I don’t know the answer to half the shit she asks me, when I get home after practice I’m exhausted and the season’s almost here so it’ll be so much worse, I can’t _do_ this. I didn’t _want_ this. She’s—” He covers his face, fighting back the panic again. “She’s counting on me, and I’m just going to let her down, because that’s what I _do_.”

Jamie’s fingers circle his wrists and pull them gently away from his eyes. Tyler lets him, suddenly exhausted.

“Don’t tell me I won’t,” he mutters, mostly to his lap.

“Okay,” Jamie says, startling Tyler into looking up. Jamie shrugs, still holding Tyler’s wrists. “You’re gonna let her down, Tyler, is that what you want to hear? You’re going to fuck up, and do things wrong.” Tyler tries to jerk his hands away but Jamie’s are suddenly like iron. “Because _you’re human_ ,” he says. “You think your parents did it all right? You think they didn’t fuck up? I know mine did. My dad _forgot me_ once. Left me behind in a grocery store. Got all the way home before he realized. Shit _happens_ , Tyler. People fuck up. They try their best and sometimes it’s not enough.”

“But it has to be,” Tyler says, almost pleading. “She needs it to be. She needs _me_.”

“She _has_ you,” Jamie says. “And she has me. And Lane. And your parents. She has a family.” His hands loosen until his thumbs are stroking slow and gentle over Tyler’s pulse points. “What do you need from me?” he asks, and _god_ , Tyler loves him so much. It’s the only reason he has the courage to say what needs to be said.

“I need my friend,” he whispers. He looks up, into Jamie’s beautiful, beloved face, and swallows the shards of glass in his throat. “I need you to be Jamie and me to be Tyler. Like we were a week ago. Not whatever we were the other night. I don’t—I don’t know what that was, and I—I can’t find out. I can’t be all twisted up like that right now. I need to know you’re there, Jamie. As my friend. And... nothing more, so I can be Olivia’s father.” He feels vaguely like he should be bleeding from wrenching the words out, but he’s not—his skin is smooth and unblemished. How could he say those things and they not leave a visible wound, he wonders briefly, but Jamie just nods, his face blank.

“Alright, Segs.” He’s drawing away, letting go, putting the space Tyler had asked for between them, and Tyler—Tyler thinks vaguely that he might die if Jamie stops touching him. But he doesn’t. His traitorous heart continues beating, and Jamie’s standing, Jamie’s turning away as if he can’t bear to look at Tyler anymore.

“Jamie,” he whispers.

Jamie says nothing.

Tyler stands up, wavering. He aches to touch Jamie’s broad back, but he thinks it would genuinely break him if Jamie flinched from his hand.

So he walks on careful legs that only wobble a little out of the kitchen and down the hall.

He hears quick footsteps behind him before he reaches the door, and turns just in time for Jamie to yank him into a hard hug.

Tyler chokes on the sob of relief as Jamie holds him tight, standing there in the dark hallway, everything Tyler so desperately wants and can’t have.

“You’re still my best friend,” Jamie says. “You always will be. _Always_ , Segs. This is non-negotiable.”

“Good,” Tyler manages through the tears burning his throat. He gives himself one more long minute of his face pressed to Jamie’s throat, scratchy with the stupid beard he seems to love so much, feeling Jamie’s pulse racing under his lips, and then he eases away. “I’ll… see you at practice?”

“Yeah,” Jamie says, and watches Tyler leave with dark, unreadable eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you?
> 
> (Full disclosure: as far as I know, Mr. Benn never left any of his children anywhere. CREATIVE LICENSE please don't kill me)


	7. Chapter 7

Olivia has bounced back from her meltdown by the next morning, her eyes bright as she chatters to Jackie and Tyler tries to drown himself in his coffee.

He hadn’t slept at all, of course, staring at the ceiling and berating himself for his stupidity until his eyes burned with the tears he wouldn’t allow to fall.

Jackie tosses him some worried looks as Olivia instructs Ferguson on how to properly eat waffles, but Tyler pretends not to notice. He eats his breakfast mechanically and takes his plate to the sink, Jamie’s bowed shoulders the night before all he can see.

“Bye Mom,” he says, dropping a kiss to her temple, and then glances down to see Olivia staring up at him with her melted chocolate eyes that Jackie swore were just like Tyler’s.

Without stopping to think, he stoops and presses a loud, smacking kiss on her syrup-sticky cheek. Olivia bursts into giggles, swiping at her face, and Tyler winks at her.

“Now you know where the dogs get it.”

But his smile fades as he gets in his car. He has to look at Jamie today, pretend he hadn’t told him they could never be together. _Fake it till you make it_. A coping mechanism that had gotten him through much of his younger years. Tyler takes several deep breaths, pushing away the hurt on Jamie’s face, the twin ache in his own heart, and thought about what mattered. Olivia. Hockey. The team.

When he’s in control of his expression enough, he drives to the rink.

Most of the guys are in the locker room, loudly bantering as they strip down to get in their gear.

Bishop finds Tyler first, sitting down beside him. He looks unhappy, and Tyler stifles unease, plastering on a smile.

“‘Sup, man?”

“What’s going on with Jamie?” Bishop asks without preamble.

Tyler freezes and then tries to shake it off with a cough. “I’m—how would I know? We’re not in each other’s pockets.”

Bishop looks genuinely startled at that. “Yes you are? In fact, most of the time you guys get here at the same time, if you don’t ride together. You always leave together, you’re always at each other’s houses—we’ve been saying for years that you guys should just move in together.”

“Is there a point to this?” Tyler says loudly.

“My _point_ is that if anyone knows what’s going on with him, it’ll be you. So…” Bishop gazes expectantly at him.

Tyler sighs and shoves his feet into his skates to avoid having to meet Bishop’s eyes. “I don’t know, man. Sorry.”

“Well, can you find out? Because he’s grumpy as fuck and it’s making the rookies nervous.”

Tyler glances over toward Jamie’s stall. He’s settling his gear over his head, not looking at anyone, his jaw set. Tyler sighs.

“I’ll see what I can do.” It’s his fault, after all.

Klingberg leans over Bishop. “You know what, Bish—all that stuff you said about them getting here and leaving together… they haven’t done that much lately.”

“The fuck did you come from?” Tyler demands.

“You’re right,” Bishop says, considering Tyler.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Tyler turns away to grab his pads.

“Has Tyler posted anything about Jamie on Instagram lately?” Bishop asks.

Klingberg gasps. “Mom and Dad are fighting!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tyler straps the pads into place, ignoring Bishop’s and Klingberg’s hushed discussion beside him.

“Wait,” Spezza says from across the room. “Which one’s Mom and which one’s Dad?”

“Jamie’s Dad, obviously,” Shore puts in. “He’s got that ‘disappointed but not surprised’ face down cold.”

“And Tyler’s Mom,” Klingberg adds. “Because he’s always got to look pretty and taking selfies and he _looooves_ fashion.”

“Way to fucking stereotype,” Tyler snaps.

“Is not nice, put women in box,” Val chimes in, making everyone turn and stare at him. He turns red but lifts his chin. “Is true.”

Tyler slaps him on the shoulder and drags his jersey on over his head. Jamie hasn’t looked at him yet. Tyler tells himself it’s for the best and heads for the ice.

Montgomery’s been trying different things with the lines, and he’s shuffled them around again so it’s Tyler, Comeau, and Val working through drills with Carrick and Klingberg. It feels good, they’re mostly meshing, but Carrick can’t seem to get the trick of the pass they’re working on. Over and over they try it, and every time Tyler sends it through the forest of blades and sticks to where Carrick’s supposed to be waiting, he misses it.

Tyler pulls up sharply after the sixth time, stifling frustration.

“Sorry, Segs,” Carrick says, hanging his head.

Tyler takes a deep breath. “It’s okay, Carrie. Let’s try it again.”

This is usually the point where he’d pull Jamie aside, ask him for help getting through to Carrick, or maybe to demonstrate what he’s going for. Jamie always knows what Tyler’s going to do on the ice. He’s there, ready, every time Tyler has the puck on his tape.

But Jamie’s on the far end of the ice, leaning on his stick and talking to several rookies. He hasn’t been on Tyler’s unit all practice, nor has he spoken to him once.

 _This is what you wanted_ , Tyler tells himself, but he can’t help the feeling of betrayal that gnaws at his stomach. If the _team_ suffers because of his stupidity, that’s going to make it so much worse. Jamie knows better than to let his personal life get in the way of his hockey.

“Again!” Tyler shouts, and grabs the puck.

Carrick gets it that time, rifling it past Bishop’s glove, and Tyler whoops and collides with him as Carrick throws his arms in the air.

“I told you!” Tyler says, and Carrick beams at him. Tyler pats his helmet as Montgomery blows his whistle and they head in.

Montgomery’s switching up the lines again, and Tyler and Jamie are back on the same unit. Jamie looks focused, hands easy on the stick, and Tyler feels cautious hope. Maybe it’ll work.

Tyler grabs the puck and dodges Shore, bolting through a hole to race down the ice toward Bishop. He’s aware of Jamie off to his left, and Tyler knows he’s got no chance of scoring with Klingberg and Heiskanen breathing down his neck the way they are. He ducks Heiskanen and sends the puck to Jamie, who reaches for it and misses.

Tyler’s so shocked he stops skating and Klingberg collides with him, sending him into the boards.

“Shit, sorry,” Klingberg says, helping him up. “You okay?”

Tyler shakes it off. Jamie’s gone after the puck and is currently trying to get it away from Shore. He succeeds and spins, but he misses the chance at a wrister as Heiskanen neatly scoops the puck off his stick.

“Jesus,” Klingberg says, staring as Jamie chases Heiskanen up ice. “Are you guys _actually_ fighting?”

“ _No,”_ Tyler says. His stomach twists. “We’re not… it’s not—everything’s fine.”

“Sure,” Klingberg says, gesturing to where Jamie still hasn’t gained any ground against Heiskanen.

Tyler sighs.

Jamie keeps playing like that every time he and Tyler are put together. He fumbles several passes, misses Tyler’s cues, and finally slams his stick against the ice in frustration, cracking it. He hurls it at the boards and skates off the ice, everyone watching him go silently.

Tyler catches Klingberg’s eye and hunches his shoulders.

Jamie’s in the showers by the time the rest of them get in from their cool-off.

The mood in the locker room is subdued and Tyler focuses on getting stripped out of his sweaty clothes.

 _I’ll talk to him when I’m out of the shower_ , Tyler tells himself.

But Jamie’s gone when he gets out.

 

Jamie stays away him for the next week, while Tyler’s distracted with getting Lane up to speed on his household routines and Olivia into the school she joined late. And then the news breaks about Olivia, and suddenly there are reporters everywhere, crawling all over Tyler for quotes, pestering his teammates, following Tyler’s car when he goes to the grocery store or out to pick up dog food, and Tyler can’t _breathe_ through the frustration that chokes him, but he swallows it back, answers every question they throw at him with the same polite half-smile on his face.

“Total surprise,” he says over and over. “I had no idea. Yes, I’m very excited to have her here with me. A lot of time to make up for.”

Frankly, it’s a surprise they made it through the first two weeks without the penny dropping. Tyler isn’t sure how they managed to hide it but he’s grateful they had that time, enough to let Olivia settle in, find her feet, before all the public attention swamped them.

Still, the team’s playing is suffering, the vets frustrated and the rookies worried as Jamie studiously avoids being in the same room with Tyler until Tyler is grinding his teeth. Every time he’s tried to get Jamie alone, Jamie’s had a reason why he can’t talk. Tyler can’t decide if he’s angrier at himself or Jamie. _What happened to best friends_ , he wants to scream, but he keeps his mouth shut and his head down, focusing on getting his line clicking.

Their first game is a disaster. The Bluejackets nearly get a shutout against them, until Heiskanen puts one top shelf on Bobrovsky just before the end of the last period. They’re distracted, out of sync, and unable to find each other for plays.

Jamie spends most of the game on seeming autopilot. Tyler is forced to call plays when Jamie doesn’t, rousing the stragglers and trying desperately to pull them into a cohesive unit, but it’s useless.

They’re dejected as they shuffle into the locker room. Tyler looks up as he leaves the ice—Olivia and Lane were sitting in the players’ families’ section, and Olivia is up against the glass, hands flat against it. She’s saying something, but Tyler can’t hear her over the crowd. Still, she looks happy, so Tyler dredges up a smile for her and taps the glass with his stick before heading down the tunnel.

He makes it through the cooldowns and media scrums acutely aware of Jamie handling his own mess of reporters a few feet away. Tyler answers questions, drinks water, tries to keep the bland media face in place, and goes through the now familiar digging about Olivia on autopilot. A lot of them ask about her mother, and Tyler repeats the spiel the PR team gave him. He could do it in his sleep now. “Grad student, this was her decision and I respect that. No, I don’t resent her for not telling me sooner. Yes, Olivia loves hockey, she wants to go pro.”

He’s also not surprised when Montgomery pulls him aside after he’s out of the shower.

“A word,” he says, and Tyler sighs and follows him.

In his office, Montgomery leans against his desk and crosses his arms.

“What’s going on with my captain?” he asks without preamble.

Tyler’s played a long, grueling game and he’s exhausted. He drops into a chair and rubs his face.

“He’s not talking to the boys on the ice,” Montgomery says. “They’re getting more captaining from _you_ than him. Which, glad to see you stepping up, son, but _what_ is going on?”

Tyler wants to sleep for a week. They have a game the next day. If his shit tanks their chances of a Cup run, he’ll never forgive himself.

“You’d have to ask him, Coach,” he says woodenly.

Montgomery makes an irritated noise. “I did. He said it was personal, nothing to worry about. Let me tell you, Tyler, I’m fucking worried.”

“Sorry, Coach,” Tyler mumbles.

“Talk to him,” Montgomery says.

“What good would that do?”  Tyler demands. “He’s avoiding me too!”

“Not a suggestion.” Montgomery’s voice softens. “Fix whatever’s broken between you before it breaks the team, Tyler.”

Tyler nods, eyes on the floor.

 

He’s unsurprised to find Jamie gone by the time he gets outside. Olivia and Lane have already gone home, so Tyler heads for his car.

Halfway there, he takes the turn to Jamie’s house on impulse, lips tight as he punches in the gate code.

Jamie appears about as thrilled to see him as Tyler is to be there.

“Do you want me to be traded?” Tyler flings at him before Jamie even has the door open all the way.

Jamie looks stunned. “You—what? Why would I want that?”

“You obviously don’t want me here. As in Dallas. And it was your town first, so if you want me to go—”

Jamie grabs Tyler’s elbow and hauls him bodily over the threshold into the house, slamming the door behind him. Tyler stumbles, catching himself on the wall, and turns. Jamie’s looking at him, just looking, but his eyes are dark and Tyler can’t help the way his breath shortens.

“You said,” Tyler starts, and can’t finish. Jamie doesn’t move but Tyler is suddenly, acutely aware just how big he is, standing there just out of arm’s reach.

He licks his lips and tries again. “You said I was still your best friend. That that was non-negotiable. And you’ve been treating me like shit ever since. So I guess you changed your mind, so if you want me to go, then—”

“You can’t just ‘go’,” Jamie says. “You signed an eight year contract. I was the first person you told. Remember?”

“I’ll figure out a way out of it,” Tyler says desperately. “I fucked us up, and I want us back, but I guess I can’t have that so if you want me to go to another team—”

“Stop _saying_ that,” Jamie hisses. He takes a step forward. “It’s killing me, Tyler, okay? It’s fucking _killing_ me. And I’m sorry, I know what I said and I meant it, I still mean it, but you’re—” He gestures as if helpless. “If I touch you, I’ll never stop.” He snaps his mouth shut as if he hadn’t meant to say that last part.

“We were just friends two weeks ago,” Tyler said, feeling his way. “And then Olivia came, and… my mom, and Jordie….” The light dawns. “Jordie said something to you, didn’t he?”

Jamie doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“What did he say?” Tyler asks. “It was the day I introduced Olivia to the team, I’ll bet you anything. You were different, after.”

Jamie scrubs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “It just—he made me realize I’ve been taking you for granted all this time.”

Tyler blinks at him.

“How long have we been friends?” Jamie asks.

“I mean… since I stepped off the plane, pretty much.”

“Pretty much,” Jamie echoes. “Six years playing beside you, watching you play the field, but you never once made a pass at me even though you _literally_ stood on your locker after your first practice to announce your sexuality to the team.”

Tyler can’t help the soft huff of laughter at the memory. “Figured it was best to get all the surprises out in the open at once.”

Jamie’s smiling, his eyes warmer. “But you never hit on me. You slept around, played the field—or I thought you did. And then you told me you haven’t been with anyone in awhile, and right after that Jordie showed up and tore me a new one for stringing you along.”

“Stringing me… what?”

“He said it was obvious you were in love with me, and if I didn’t want you, then I needed to cut you loose. And I just—” Jamie takes another step forward and Tyler tenses but Jamie’s brushing past him, out of the hall into the kitchen. Tyler follows, unsure what’s going on. He finds Jamie rummaging in the liquor cabinet. “I need something if I’m going to finish this fucking conversation,” he says, half to himself. “Want anything?”

Tyler shakes his head automatically. “Driving.”

Jamie resurfaces with a bottle of honey whiskey and a shot glass. He pours himself one and downs it, Tyler helpless to stop the way he traces the line of his throat as he swallows. Then he pours another.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Jamie said. “About you.” He looks up. “I didn’t know, Segs. How you felt. Because you never _once_ indicated that you’d be down with…” He gestures with the hand holding the bottle. “Anything.”

“Have I _ever_ slept with a teammate?” Tyler asks, as evenly as possible.

“Not as far as I know,” Jamie admits. “You’ve slept with other hockey players, though.”

“But no one from our team,” Tyler says.

Jamie takes the second shot and refills the glass.

“I make it a habit not to shit where I eat,” Tyler says. “So I stayed away from teammates, and that included you, with a neon sign above your head that said DO NOT TOUCH, and I had fun that didn’t involve you guys.”

“I just… never knew,” Jamie says, and it’s almost like he’s pleading for Tyler to understand what he’s trying to tell him. “You were always… you never once let me think I might have a chance.”

Tyler shrugs. “By the time I realized—” His turn to shut his mouth abruptly.

Jamie’s eyes narrow. “Realized what?”

Tyler shoves his hands in his pockets. “It doesn’t matter. That’s not what I’m here to talk about anyway.”

“I think it is,” Jamie says. “Because Jordie told me I’ve taken you for granted, all these years. You’re always here when I need you, but you’re… stuck. Because of me.” He takes the third shot and sets it back on the counter before turning to Tyler. His eyes are determined, his mouth set the way it gets after he’s argued a penalty with a ref and been shot down. “I needed to know if… if you _did_ feel the way Jordie said. If I _did_ have a chance. So I… touched you.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Tyler says. “You drove me out of my fucking _mind_ that night, Jamie.”

Jamie’s grin is fierce and possessive and it lights a fire in Tyler’s gut. But then the smile dims, and he looks at the ground. “Olivia’s the most important thing in your life,” he says quietly. “I get that. If she were mine, it would be the same way. But Tyler—” He glances up. “Not touching you, especially after you admitting you wanted it as bad as I did—” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend.”

“You said I was your best friend,” Tyler repeated, his throat thick. “And you’ve treated me like garbage for a _week._ ”

Jamie crosses the kitchen in several quick steps and yanks Tyler into his arms. Tyler’s eyes are burning, _again,_ and he has to bury his face in Jamie’s throat and breathe through his mouth in rapid gulps to keep from breaking down.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” Jamie says into his hair. “I’ve been trying to stay out of your way so you can raise Olivia and instead all I’ve managed to do is make you feel _worse_ but Ty—” His voice is unsteady. “It’s killing me not to touch you.”

Tyler leans back enough to see him. Jamie’s eyes are so dark he can’t see his pupils. “You can still touch me,” Tyler says quietly.

Jamie’s arms tighten but he shakes his head. “Can’t.” His throat bobs when he swallows.

Tyler buries his face in Jamie’s throat again. “Touching me now,” he points out. His lips brush Jamie’s skin, and Jamie shivers.

“Shouldn’t be,” he manages.

He’s right. Tyler knows that. He doesn’t trust himself so close. But he also can’t make himself move back. So they stand quietly, until their breathing syncs up and Tyler can feel the misery and uncertainty of the past week dropping off his shoulders.

“I’ll go to another team if you want me to,” he says after a few minutes.

Jamie tightens his grip and shakes his head. “Never.”

“Then will you stop avoiding me?”

Jamie takes a deep breath. “Yeah.” He presses his cheek to the top of Tyler’s hair. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

“Sometimes,” Tyler says.

He can feel the faint vibration of Jamie’s laughter against his cheek and cautious hope unfurls beneath his breastbone. He can work with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work and insomnia have been kicking my butt, I apologize for the delay on this chapter! This is my Friday, so hopefully I'll make some real headway this weekend. :D
> 
> As always, come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) if you want!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had to double-check some timeline stuff with a couple of people. Shoutout to whisperyvoices and spoodle-monkey, the true MVPs of this chapter.
> 
> I think I got all the errors but I'm very tired and possibly about to commit murder at work so please excuse any remaining. *lies facedown* This is fine.

The next day at practice, Tyler walks into the locker room to a remarkably different mood. The boys are talking to each other, their tones still serious but their expressions lighter. Tyler realizes why when he makes eye contact with Jamie on the other side of the room and Jamie _smiles_ at him. Tyler smiles back, somewhat helplessly.

Bishop is the first to greet him.

“So you guys made up, huh?”

Tyler sighs. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Not when Jamie calls me after the game to apologize for being an asshole and asking me for my input on how to bring the team back together. We’re going out for paintball tomorrow, by the way.”

Tyler looks at the ground, fighting another smile. “Good,” he says. “That’s… good.”

Turns out Jamie called everyone on the team, even just for a minute or two, checking in, reassuring, promising to do better. Tyler feels like the weight on his shoulders has eased and he can breathe for the first time in a week.

Practice goes much better, Jamie on Tyler’s line again and this time catching everything Tyler sends him, slapping it right back or sinking it behind Khudobin’s knee, chirping the vets relentlessly and pushing the rookies for more.

Halfway through, Tyler realizes he’s smiling and can’t stop.

Montgomery doesn’t demand too much of them, mindful of their game that evening. They have an intensive strategy and planning session after practice, and then everyone disperses for their game day naps.

 

When they get back to the rink, the mood in the room is sober but Tyler sees hope on a lot of faces. He makes the rounds himself, talking to everyone in turn and lingering with a few of the rookies. Carrick he’s not too worried about, but Heiskanen still hasn’t settled into his bones yet. He has a tendency to Bambi-leg it if he gets too tired. Tyler offers to show him a few drills between games to help with that.

“You’ll hate me, after,” he warns. “But they’ll help, I promise.” He pats Miro's knee. “Coach and Jamie wouldn’t have you here if they didn’t think you were ready.”

Miro nods, looking determined, and grips his stick tighter as Tyler goes back to his stall. He’s halfway through getting his skates on when Jamie sits down beside him.

“Hey,” Tyler says cautiously.

Jamie’s eyes look tired, like he’s still short on sleep despite his nap, but he smiles. “Hey.” And then he doesn’t say anything else.

Tyler waits, but Jamie seems content to sit beside him, looking at the team as they get into their gear and talk over and around each other.

“They’re good guys,” Jamie says.

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees.

“Coach talked to me,” Jamie says next. His shoulders slump briefly. “I’m sorry I put that on you, Segs. Making you have to lead without me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tyler says, wanting to touch him but keeping his hands in his lap. “I knew you’d get your head out of your ass eventually.”

Jamie’s laugh is startled and genuine, and Tyler ducks his head to finish putting his skates on, not bothering to hide his smile.

 

They win 4-2, Jamie getting a goal off Tyler’s assist and then Tyler scoring off a breakaway less than a minute later. He collides with Jamie after, breathless and triumphant, arms in the air as Jamie swings him around, roaring something in his ear.

It’s going to work. He’s got Jamie back. Olivia’s in the stands, beating her small hands against the glass, delight all over her expressive face, and Tyler points right at her, making her somehow light up even more. Tyler throws his head back and laughs as the rest of the line slams into them.

 

October gives way to November and Tyler goes on his first set of away games. He’s a nervous wreck the whole time, texting Lane constantly, until she calls him in exasperation while he’s supposed to be napping before the game.

“She’s _fine_ , Tyler,” Lane tells him firmly.

Tyler is in bed, flat on his back staring at the ceiling. “Is she—” _Does she miss me?_ he wants to ask, but he doesn’t.

“She asks about you all the time, and I’ve promised her we’ll watch your games,” Lane says. She laughs quietly. “She misses you, of course she does. But she’s _so_ excited. She tells all her friends and teachers about you. And she’s eating her vegetables. I promise.”

“Okay,” Tyler says, a lump in his throat but his chest easing. “Um. I’ll try to call after the game, if—if it’s not too late.”

“I’ll let her stay up for this one,” Lane says, sounding amused. “But when you’re on the west coast, she’ll just have to watch them the next day. Can’t throw off her sleep schedule too much.”

Tyler can’t help smiling. “I’m glad you’re with us, Lane.”

Lane laughs again. “I didn’t expect to enjoy this job as much as I have. Now go to sleep, Tyler. We’ll be watching the game.”

Tyler falls asleep almost immediately.

 

They win three of their four away games, losing the fourth and returning exhausted but still hopeful.

Tyler spends as much time with Olivia as he can, but she’s busy too, enrolled in a mite league that keeps her out a lot, but she’s glowing and happy and talks nonstop when they’re together.

Jamie is almost back to his old self, as he’d promised. A little quieter, maybe, somewhat less inclined to touch Tyler, but he’s _there,_ he sits next to Tyler on the plane more often than not, discusses game plays and lines and jokes with him. If he doesn’t get too close, doesn’t touch Tyler as often, Tyler tries not to mind.

The lines are gelling, their powerplay unit coming into its own. They’re rising through the standings, and people are beginning to whisper about playoffs as the months spin out.

 

Tyler takes Olivia to the team Christmas party and wishes he could kiss Jamie under the mistletoe.

 

Jamie invites Olivia and Tyler over for dinner for the New Year to give Lane the night off. They eat food Jamie has catered, because he has no shame about not being able to cook, and Tyler watches candlelight on Jamie’s face and thinks about a life where he can have this, Jamie smiling at him soft and affectionate as Olivia tries to convince Ferguson to try black-eyed peas. He just smiles back and takes another bite.

 

The team is winning more than they lose, every step inching them closer to the playoffs. They’re under more scrutiny than ever, their every move dissected and analyzed, and Tyler, along with the rest of the guys, curtails his extracurricular activities, sticking close to home as much as possible. More often than not, Jamie joins him, Klingberg, Shore, or Bishop often tagging along.

Every spare minute is spent talking strategy, their biggest threats, and what chance they have. Hope wars with exhaustion on everyone’s faces as they scrape through February into March.

They’re still winning, still racking up points. Klingberg goes out for three weeks, lower body injury. They call up several rookies, shuffle the lines around, reassess. Shore hits a hot streak, racking up several goals a game, that pushes them up over the hump of Klingberg’s loss. Tyler makes time for the rookies, bringing them to his house for steaks, letting them vent as much as they feel safe, commiserating with the exhaustion.

Olivia has been adopted by the team wholesale, and everyone asks about her when she’s not at a game. She still loves Jamie best besides Tyler, but Ben is a clear contender for favorite ever since he took her for a skate around the arena after a game, on his shoulders as she held onto his hair and squealed happily.

Tyler thinks they have a shot at the playoffs this year, he really does. Judging from the expressions on the faces around him in the locker room as Jamie talks them up before a game, the others do too.

He falls into bed and sleeps the sleep of the dead every night, and if he wakes up wishing there was a heavy arm wrapped around his waist in the mornings, well… Tyler’s gotten good at not wanting what he can’t have, or at least telling himself he can survive without it.

 

And then it’s the end of March.

Montgomery calls them in for a team meeting in the last week. His face is calm, but his fingers twitch as he speaks, clearly as wired and exhausted as they are.

“We’re not a lock yet,” he tells them. People nod. They all know that. “But we’re close.” Montgomery looks around. “The points are there. Five more games. You win four of them and we’ll be Stanley Cup contenders. Think we can do that?”

“ _Fuck yeah,”_ they tell him and Montgomery grins, stepping back to give Jamie the floor.

 

They take the first two easily, four points and five respectively. The third, on Senators’ home ground, is a close fought battle that they just barely scrape through, leaving blood on the ice but coming home with a win off Heiskanen’s goal in the last five ten seconds on the clock for a three point total.

Two more games at home. The team doesn’t make eye contact much, but they talk in low, determined tones as they gear up to face the Lightning.

They lose to them in a vicious shutout, a resounding defeat that shakes them to their cores and leaves them bruised and devastated as the Lightning celebrates on the other side of the ice.

Tyler and Jamie console the rookies, avoiding each other’s eyes, talk to the vets, reassure everyone. Still one game to go. One more chance. Tyler puts on his best reassuring face, talks to reporters blandly, and goes home as soon as possible.

 

The night before they face the Kings, Tyler can’t sleep. He lies in bed, tossing and turning so much that Marshall finally gets up in a huff and joins Cash in his bed on the floor, and still Tyler can’t settle his brain. He feels like he’s buzzing, like if anyone touched him, they’d feel him vibrating. They’re _so close_.

At about one AM, he gives up and gets out of bed. He’s still so wired he barely feels the floor under his bare feet as he slips downstairs, leaves a note for Lane on the refrigerator, and gathers up his keys.

He doesn’t examine what he’s doing as he drives to Jamie’s house and punches in the gate code. He doesn’t let himself think at all as he unlocks the front door and steps inside, toeing off his shoes silently. He’s coming unspooled, strips of himself peeling away from his core. He _needs—_

“Tyler?” Jamie sounds half-asleep, appearing in the door of his bedroom. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of soft pants that have seen better days, clinging to his hips. His hair is wild and on end, eyes heavy-lidded, and all the longing Tyler’s been pushing away for so long, denying and bottling up and ignoring, swamps him in one heavy, drowning wave.

He lunges across the space between them and drags Jamie into a bruising kiss. Jamie makes a shocked noise, utterly still for one horrible, frozen moment, and then he’s kissing back wildly, mouths sliding together slick and wet as he grabs Tyler’s hips and yanks him close.

 _Yes._ Tyler gets a fistful of Jamie’s hair and hooks one leg around his calf, plastering himself against Jamie’s solid frame. He’s going to fly apart, shake into pieces from sheer _need,_ anchored only by Jamie’s huge hands on his body.

“Please,” he gasps when they pull apart briefly for air.

Jamie’s eyes are huge and dark, looking down into Tyler’s. He looks almost as wrecked as Tyler feels, hair wild and mouth swollen with kisses.

The vibrations are still there, in Tyler’s core. He wants to scream, to plead. _Make it stop. Let me feel nothing but you._ He closes his teeth before he begs, pulling Jamie back into another kiss, but he’s trembling, and Jamie senses it.

He breaks the kiss, looking worried. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

They’re still standing in the doorway, and Tyler knows if he lets Jamie slow them down, if they stop and _talk,_ it’s going to ruin everything. So he pushes Jamie backward, over the threshold into his bedroom.

Jamie lets him, but his eyes are still shrewd, assessing. Tyler shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “We can talk… later.” _Or never, never’s good too_. “I need—” He is dust scattered by a breeze, a collection of random fragments, and if Jamie doesn’t start touching him, _properly_ touching him, he’s going to be nothing but a vaguely Tyler-shaped lump of molecules on Jamie’s carpet. “ _Please,”_ he repeats.

Somehow, Jamie gets it. “Bed,” he orders.

Tyler goes eagerly as Jamie turns on a lamp to its lowest setting.

“I’d ask you if you’re sure,” Jamie says, but Tyler loses the rest of what he says because he steps out of his pants and of course he isn’t wearing underwear.

Tyler’s seen Jamie’s cock countless times, of course he has. There’s no place for modesty in a locker room. But he’s never been allowed to _look,_ and he forgets the rest of the world exists as he traces the hard, barely curved shape of it where it already strains upward, brushing against Jamie’s belly. His mouth waters. He wants—

Jamie snaps his fingers in Tyler’s face. “I’m flattered,” he says, sounding equal parts amused and aroused, “but take off your clothes.”

Tyler falls over himself trying to obey, kneeling on top of Jamie’s mattress to strip off his shirt as Jamie hisses appreciatively under his breath, and then yanking his pants off equally fast. Jamie puts a big hand on Tyler’s chest and shoves while Tyler’s still trying to get them off his feet, and Tyler falls backward with a startled grunt.

There’s no time to react before Jamie’s on top of him, and the heavy weight of him pinning Tyler to the bed makes a grateful sob tear its way from Tyler’s throat. Jamie freezes but Tyler grabs at him with shaking hands.

 _“Don’t you dare,”_ he snarls, winding a leg around Jamie’s thighs as Jamie half-laughs against his throat and settles in.

Tyler closes his eyes, letting his hands rove over every inch of Jamie he can touch as Jamie noses along Tyler’s collarbone until he finds a spot he likes, above the jut of bone, and fastens his mouth to it. Then he sucks, hard and brutal, not shy about using his teeth. Tyler twists beneath him, the pleasure-pain-pleasure sending jolts through his body. He’s only just aware of his erection, despite being so hard it hurts. Jamie is over him, above him, around him, blanketing him and surrounding him, until Tyler can’t smell, feel, taste, hear anything that _isn’t_ Jamie sucking his claim into Tyler’s skin.

Arousal curls molten hot in his core. He’s burning up with it, lit up from the inside out. He’s never felt so safe, Jamie the walls blocking out the world that so often wants nothing more than to tear Tyler apart. Jamie’s still busy marking him, and Tyler realizes with something like horror that he’s going to come untouched.

Words desert him and he bucks, trying to dislodge Jamie’s mouth— _not yet not yet_ —but Jamie is undeterred. He grabs Tyler’s wrists in both hands without looking, slamming them down onto the mattress as he sinks his teeth into Tyler’s shoulder and Tyler chokes on a scream and spills between them in a hot, aching rush.

He can hear Jamie groaning as he comes back to himself. Jamie’s face is buried in Tyler’s throat, his breath harsh and ragged, and he’s muttering something Tyler can’t make out, movements frantic and graceless with need.

Tyler gets a hand between them but he’s barely brushed the head of Jamie’s cock with his knuckles before Jamie’s stiffening and coming, wet, slippery heat all over Tyler’s hand.

Jamie manages to keep himself up on one elbow until he’s done, but then he collapses, driving the air from Tyler’s lungs. His breathing is choppy and sharp in Tyler’s ear, their bellies slick with their mingled come.

Tyler lies quietly, still floating free of his moorings, luxuriating in Jamie’s heat and weight and smell as he slowly, so slowly, settles back into his skin. After a few minutes he stretches as much as he can and takes stock.

He feels so good, warm and relaxed and his mind finally, blissfully, still. His shoulder aches, and it’s going to bruise like a motherfucker—Tyler’s going to get chirped into eternity for this in the locker room, he knows. _Worth it,_ he decides, turning his head just enough to press a kiss against Jamie’s ear.

Jamie moans softly. Tyler can’t help the rush of affection.

“Need to get cleaned up,” he whispers.

Jamie burrows closer.

“Of course you’re clingy after sex,” Tyler says, fighting laughter.

“Y’killed me,” Jamie slurs, words muffled in Tyler’s skin.

Tyler pushes at his shoulder. “Come on, you weigh a thousand pounds.”

Somehow, Jamie manages to get heavier, and Tyler wheezes a laugh, still shoving at his arm ineffectually.

“I’ll do the cleanup,” he gasps, “just— _get off_.”

Jamie lifts his head. His hair is sticking up in clumps, lips red and swollen, and he looks so, so pleased with himself. “I did,” he points out, making Tyler groan, but he heaves himself sideways with a huge groan and collapses on his back on the bed as Tyler rolls upright and heads for the bathroom and the face towels.

He comes back armed with a warm, wet cloth, having cleaned himself up in the bathroom, and settles on the bed beside Jamie, who already looks halfway back to sleep.

He sighs when Tyler cleans him up with careful, gentle sweeps, making sure he gets as much as possible. Jamie’s cock is soft and spent, nestled in the crease of his hip, and Tyler can’t help bending to brush a quick kiss against it.

Jamie makes a strangled noise and Tyler looks up to see him staring down at him, eyes dark and mouth half-open.

Tyler grins wickedly but all he does is resume wiping. When he’s satisfied, he throws the cloth toward the bathroom and turns back to Jamie, unsure for the first time.

But Jamie just holds out an arm.

Tyler goes into it gladly, tucking himself up against Jamie’s bulk, one leg thrown over Jamie’s thighs.

Jamie traces absent circles on Tyler’s back with one warm finger.

“What just happened?” he finally says.

“Do you really want a diagram of our play?” Tyler asks, and laughter rumbles through Jamie’s chest. He sounds sleepy and content, all but purring.

“What changed?” he says after a few more minutes.

Tyler presses his face against Jamie’s shoulder, smelling the sweet spice of leftover cologne. “Nothing’s changed,” he says.

Jamie’s hand stills but he says nothing, waiting.

Tyler can’t figure out what to say next but he knows he needs to say _something,_ rescue the situation.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says. “I—it was like I was… I couldn’t hold myself together. Like I was coming right out of my skin. Everything’s happening at once and we’re so close to the playoffs and _you’re_ so close, every time I turned around you were there, and I just. I needed you. This.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jamie says, his voice flat and unreadable.

“It _can’t,”_ Tyler says, suddenly desperate for Jamie to understand. He lets go and sits up, cross-legged, next to Jamie’s hip. Jamie doesn’t move, watching him silently. In the low light, Tyler can’t read his expression. Is he angry? Hurt? “I just needed—” He’d said that already. He closes his mouth, cursing himself.

Jamie props himself up on his elbows, searching Tyler’s face. Tyler meets his eyes, bracing for the anger, for Jamie to push him away. He’s _used_ him, Tyler knows, even if Jamie enjoyed it just as much as Tyler did, and he’s already hunching his shoulders, turning his head and bracing for the fury he knows he deserves when Jamie opens his mouth.

“Okay, Ty.”

“I’m so—what?”

“I said okay,” Jamie repeats. He reaches out, covering Tyler’s bare knee with one palm. “Whatever you need.”

Tyler shakes his head, not in denial but to clear it. Jamie’s eyes are clear and open, hand warm.

He opens his mouth and Jamie’s eyes narrow, something like amusement in them.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” Tyler says, instantly defensive.

“Yes you were.” Jamie sits up. “You were going to try and pick this apart. Overanalyze everything. Talk it to death and decide you’re somehow to blame for something. And then you’ll feel guilty and you’ll pull away and we’ll both be miserable again, how am I doing so far?”

Tyler opens and closes his mouth. “That’s not playing fair,” he says faintly.

“I refuse to apologize for knowing you so well,” Jamie says. “Do you feel better?”

Tyler nods. “I’m—yeah. Like a thousand percent.” He rolls his shoulder and flinches as it pulls on the bite. “You fucker, how am I supposed to explain this tomorrow?”

Jamie is _far_ too pleased with himself. “You know what you’d really never live down? If it were to get out, of course.”

Tyler squints at him.

“The fact that you came from a _hickey_ ,” Jamie says gleefully. “I hadn’t even _touched_ —” Tyler gets his hand on a pillow and whacks him in the face with it before Jamie can finish. Jamie’s laughing, pretending to struggle as Tyler hits him again for good measure and then presses the pillow over his face, breathless with the laughter he’s fighting too.

“I will kill you in your sleep,” he threatens when he pulls the pillow away.

Jamie blinks up at him, grinning, and it makes something lazy and warm curl through Tyler’s belly.

“I’m—I should go home,” he says abruptly.

Jamie just nods, as if he’d been expecting that. “Alright to kiss you one more time?”

Tyler bends immediately, one hand on the mattress and the other on Jamie’s bare chest, and presses their mouths together. Jamie is so solid, warm and reassuring, and he opens sweetly for Tyler’s tongue, a hand coming up to tangle in Tyler’s curls.

Tyler wants nothing more than to curl back up against Jamie’s side, fall asleep cradled by his bulk, but he’d meant what he’d said. Nothing has changed. It _can’t._ This had been a desperation move on his part, but the fundamental truth remains the same—Tyler can’t afford to get distracted, not with both the playoffs looming and Olivia needing him.

So he finally eases away, regretfully, and Jamie lets him go.

“Thank you,” Tyler manages.

“Well, it’s not a service I offer many teammates,” Jamie starts, and Tyler hits him with the pillow again, stifling laughter.

 

They blow the Kings out of the water, Bishop shutting out their every attempt to score with ruthless efficiency. Tyler and Jamie play like they’re possessed, Tyler scoring on a powerplay and then, Jamie notably, on a penalty kill. That one has the crowd on its feet, roaring as Tyler hurls himself into Jamie’s arms and the rafters shake with their jubilation. Then it’s two for Heiskanen, one for Shore, and another for Tyler, put five-hole on Quick just before the buzzer sounds and the crowd loses their _minds_.

They’ve done it. They’re in the playoffs for the Stanley Cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not following any actual year, so the games they play are NOT based in reality. 
> 
> Re: the sex scene, I want to make it clear that Tyler is 100% in favor of everything Jamie is doing to him and fully onboard with it, and the only reason he wants to stop is because he doesn't want it to be over too soon, and _Jamie knows this_. If he were truly in distress, Jamie would have stopped immediately.
> 
> Also, there will be a timestamp of Olivia's birthday posted after the story is done! It bogged the pacing down too much to put it here, but I'm not going to deprive y'all of panicky Tyler covered in birthday cake trying to make the day _perfect_ for Olivia.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like I'm back on an every other day posting schedule for the foreseeable future, due to life and pesky little things like having to work, etc. 
> 
> I want to thank you all for commenting and reading and enjoying, all the feedback has been so lovely and inspires me to write more and faster because y'all are just SO NICE. *hearteyes*

They’re given a couple of days to rest and get their feet back under themselves. Tyler spends them with Olivia, knowing they won’t see much of each other until they’re out of the playoffs or—

He shuts that thought down fast. He’s not as superstitious as some, but he knows better than to tempt fate.

 

Instead he goes with Olivia to her mite league, pleasantly surprised to find that while the other parents are predictably starstruck by his presence, most of them get over it within the first hour. He especially takes to a couple around his age. The father is named Kevin, lanky and white, and the mother is Min-Seo, short and Korean. They bicker amiably back and forth over their daughter’s skating ability most of the time Tyler’s there, Min-Seo occasionally appealing to Tyler to step in when she thinks Kevin’s being especially egregious, and neither of them seem disconcerted by his fame.

Tyler is delighted by them, and sticks around after to sign autographs and pose for selfies with the kids. He’s taken aback when Min-Seo hurries after him and Olivia into the parking lot, calling his name.

“Sorry,” she pants as she catches up. “We were just wondering if you’d like to schedule a playdate for Olivia with Melanie. Might help keep her occupied while y’all are in the playoffs and all.”

Tyler glances down at Olivia, who’s bouncing up and down on her toes. “Is that a yes?” he asks her, hiding the smile.

“Yes!” Olivia throws her arms in the air, dropping her gear bag.

Tyler grins at Min-Seo, who returns it. “Let me give you Lane’s number,” Tyler tells her. "She’ll set it all up with you.”

 

He watches Olivia in the rearview mirror as he drives home. She seems happy, he thinks. She mentions Stephanie occasionally, but she hasn’t had a meltdown in a while. The grief counselor Jackie suggested when he told her what happened had explained that it could happen again at any time, so Tyler just tries to keep an eye on Olivia’s moods and not push when she seems to be feeling particularly fragile or mutinous.

“Who’re you playing first?” Olivia asks, interrupting Tyler’s train of thought.

“Ducks,” Tyler says.

Olivia wrinkles her nose and Tyler laughs, agreeing.

“First two games will be here,” he tells her. “Lane will bring you to those. But then we’ll go to them, so you’ll have to watch on TV like everyone else.”

Olivia’s sigh indicates she’s made her peace with the world being a cruel and unjust place. Tyler turns his head so she won’t see the smile he can’t fight.

“Do you like it here?” he asks her abruptly.

Olivia brightens. “I like how hot it is.”

It’s Tyler’s turn to make a face. “It’s April,” he complains. “It shouldn’t really be in the upper eighties already.”

“I can go swimming with the dogs soon!” Olivia says. “Ferguson doesn’t like water, though.” The anteater is on the seat beside her, looking a little rough around the edges.

“Probably best if he stays on dry land. Hey, one more night off. Would you like to go out? Anywhere you want.”

Olivia bounces in her seat. “Korean? And can Uncle Jamie come too?”

 

Uncle Jamie can indeed come, as it turns out, and meets them at Tyler’s favorite Korean restaurant. Tyler is struck dumb when he appears. Jamie’s wearing a sports jacket over a plain T-shirt, and his hair is styled in perfect, messy waves off his forehead, no gel in sight.

Olivia waves wildly when she sees him. Jamie threads his way through the tables and bends to hug her. Olivia stands up on the seat so she can get her arms around his neck as Tyler watches. Jamie whispers something in Olivia’s ear and grins at Tyler over her shoulder, then he’s sitting down across from him and Tyler tells himself he’s not disappointed they’re not side by side.

“Hi,” he says, dopey like he hadn’t seen Jamie the day before. “You look nice.”

Jamie grimaces. “Had to do a photo shoot.”

“I like your hair,” Tyler says before he can stop himself.

Jamie’s eyes narrow and then heat. “Yeah?” His voice is low.

Tyler clears his throat as the server arrives. _No flirting,_ he tells himself sternly. They place their orders, and Jamie leans over to Olivia and asks her how hockey’s going. Tyler watches the serious way Jamie asks questions and really listens to the answers, commiserating over the drills her coach makes them do and occasionally glancing up at Tyler, a smile in his eyes.

Tyler’s enjoying watching them interact so much that it takes a while for him to realize something else is going on with Jamie. But then the penny drops and he frowns. Jamie is tense, fiddling with the hem of his napkin, his eyes soft on Olivia but his shoulders a rigid line. Tyler reaches under the table and nudges him with a shoe.

Jamie glances up and Tyler raises an eyebrow at him. _You okay?_

Jamie hesitates briefly, then nods, summoning a smile. Tyler narrows his eyes and Jamie’s smile turns briefly genuine.

 _Later,_ he mouths.

After dinner, Tyler gets Olivia into the car and tells her he’ll be right back.

Jamie is waiting, hands in his pockets.

Tyler leans a hip against the bumper. “What’s going on?”

Jamie shifts his weight, not looking at him.

Alarm seizes Tyler. “Is it—us?”

“No!” Jamie says. He sounds honestly startled and Tyler relaxes a fraction. Jamie runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I’m just—” He shrugs. “Been a long week.”

Tyler glances around the parking lot. They’re collecting enough curious glances that it’s only a matter of time before someone asks for an autograph or selfie.

“Come over tomorrow,” he says abruptly.

“The game—” Jamie protests.

“Before our naps,” Tyler says. “It’s a three minute drive to your house. You can go nap after. You obviously need to get something off your chest.”

Jamie hesitates but finally nods. “Okay,” he says, and there’s something like relief in his eyes. “See you then.”

 

He’s on Tyler’s doorstep the next day at one pm sharp. His hair is back to being gelled into submission, and Tyler stifles a sigh of disappointment as he stands aside to let him in.

If anything, Jamie looks _more_ jittery, eyes flickering around the room, feet unable to stay still. He greets the dogs with genuine, if distracted, affection, and Tyler leads him through into the den.

“Thirsty?” he asks as an afterthought.

Jamie shakes his head. He sits stiffly on the couch, and Tyler flops down on the other end.

“What’s going on inside that giant head of yours?” Tyler prods gently.

Jamie gives him an offended look. “It’s not _that_ big.”

Tyler snickers. “Said that a lot, eh?”

“Oh fuck off,” Jamie snaps, but some of the tension bleeds from his frame. “Where’s Olivia?”

“School,” Tyler says, stretching until his shirt rides up and then settling back with a pleased sigh. “Lane goes back to her place during the day. They won’t be back until after I leave for the rink.” He nudges Jamie’s thigh with a toe. “Jamie. Hey.”

Jamie folds forward, sighing, and braces his elbows on his arms, staring at the carpet.

Tyler’s becoming alarmed. He sits up and scoots nearer, until their thighs are pressed together. Jamie says nothing for a few long moments, but he leans into Tyler’s side.

“It’s a lot,” Tyler says carefully. “A lot of pressure on you.”

Jamie nods silently. “I have to keep everyone together, convince them we can do this, when I’m not sure we _can.”_

“What do you mean?” Tyler asks. “We’re ready, Jamie. We bled to get here and we’re going to do this, okay? The rookies are getting a lot of ice time, no one’s out with any serious injuries right now, our lines are solid and our power-play unit is kicking _ass._ Why do you think we can’t do it?”

Jamie shakes his head. “Maybe it’s me that can’t do it,” he mumbles, still staring at the carpet.

“That’s bullshit,” Tyler says sharply. He pushes Jamie’s shoulder with his own. “We’re here because of you. We go where you lead. Where’s this coming from?”

“I’m being stupid,” Jamie says. He lifts his head and gives Tyler a shadow of a smile. “Just… tired, I guess.” There are dark circles under his eyes, almost bruises.

“When’s the last time you got decent sleep?” Tyler asks.

Jamie shrugs again.

Tyler stands and holds out a hand. When Jamie hesitantly takes it, he hauls him to his feet. “Come on.”

Jamie follows him upstairs without protesting, which speaks to how tired he really is, and worry spikes in Tyler’s gut. He has to get Jamie’s head on straight before they face the Ducks tonight, or this will bleed over and infect the team.

In his room, he pulls his shirt off and tosses it in the hamper, then sets an alarm on his phone. “Get in bed,” he orders.

Jamie balks briefly.

“We’re not having sex,” Tyler tells him, rolling his eyes. “You need sleep, and you’re a cuddler. So we’re going to cuddle. Get your ass in the bed.”

Jamie scowls but takes off his shoes. He strips to his boxers and climbs under the covers as Tyler hums approval and snugs himself up tight against Jamie’s back. Jamie runs so warm that they’re almost immediately overheated under the blanket, and Tyler pushes it back, leaving the sheet up over their shoulders and wrapping an arm around Jamie’s waist. He buries his nose in the hair on the nape of Jamie’s neck, smelling piney shampoo.

The last of the tension drains from Jamie’s body and he takes a shaky breath. “How do you always know?” he whispers, voice wondering.

Tyler flattens his palm over Jamie’s chest, feeling his heart thumping steadily beneath his hand. _Because I love you._ _Because I_ know _you. Because we rescue each other._ He says nothing, holding on until Jamie’s breathing evens out into sleep. Then he closes his eyes and follows him over the edge.

Tyler wakes up on his side. Jamie has rolled to face him, tangling one leg between his. His eyes are soft, searching Tyler’s with peculiar intensity, and Tyler, still half-asleep, reaches out without thinking and pulls him in until their mouths meet.

Jamie makes a startled noise that morphs into a pleased hum. He opens his mouth, tasting Tyler’s lips, and Tyler sighs against him, warm and comfortable. They kiss slowly, languidly, for several minutes, and Jamie is smiling when he eases away.

“Let’s go win a hockey game,” he murmurs.

The locker room is filled with chatter and bravado, and Tyler has to duck more than one flying roll of tape, but he can’t help his grin as he puts on his pads. He likes their chances, and he likes the mood in the room.

Montgomery gets up to address them, reminding them of the drills they’d practiced and warning them not to take stupid penalties. When he’s done and Jamie’s had his turn, Tyler, on impulse, jumps up on his locker. Everyone swivels to look at him, curious.

Tyler clears his throat. “My daughter’s in the crowd tonight. She’s never seen her father win a playoff game. Can you guys help me out with that?”

The roars and cheers from the men make Tyler’s ears ring, but he’s grinning fiercely as he hops down and grabs his skates.

When they file onto the ice, every single player lifts his stick and taps the glass in front of Olivia where she’s pressed up against it, waving at them as they pass below. Tyler tilts his head back and pulls a face at her and then blows her a kiss. Somehow, Olivia’s smile gets even wider.

They blow the Ducks out of the water, establishing a three point lead in the first period that they never lose.

 

Jamie shows up on Tyler’s doorstep the next day, the smile on his face shy and a little bit heartbreaking. Tyler grabs his wrist and pulls him up the stairs.

They wake up the same way, almost nose-to-nose, and Tyler kisses Jamie, once again muzzy with sleep and thinking of nothing but tasting his mouth. Jamie sighs appreciatively against him and kisses back but allows Tyler to draw away when he’s done.

The second game is bloodier, the Ducks clearly determined not to let the Stars pull too far ahead, but they still come away victorious. On the east coast, the Bluejackets face off against the Flyers.

Game three is in Anaheim, deep in enemy territory. Tyler says goodbye to Olivia at the house, swinging her and Ferguson up into his arms and hugging her close.

Olivia clings to him, smelling like strawberries. “Play good,” she whispers in his ear. When she sits back, she’s holding Ferguson between them, offering him to Tyler. “He’ll help you, ‘cuz I can’t be there.”

Tyler looks at the disheveled anteater and at his daughter again and wonders how he’d ever gone without this. He accepts custody of Ferguson with appropriate gravity, promising to take extra special care of him, and then crushes Olivia against him and peppers kisses to her face until she’s giggling and squirming.

 

In California the next day, Tyler gets ready for his pregame nap wondering if Jamie will come to him or if he’ll decide it’s safer to stay in his own room.

A soft knock on the door answers that question and Tyler opens it to Jamie looking sheepish but determined.

“No one saw,” he says when he’s safely inside. “I just—I think it’s helping?”

“Get your ass in the bed already,” Tyler says.

This time he wakes up with his head on Jamie’s chest, Jamie wrapped around him like an octopus. He lies quietly, unwilling to break the spell, and he knows when Jamie wakes up, his breathing changing just a fraction. Tyler tips his head back silently and lets Jamie claim his mouth.

Tyler puts Ferguson on the locker by the door in the guests’ dressing room, and one by one, the men tap him gently with their sticks as they file out.

They sweep the Ducks. Four games, a crushing blow that rocks Anaheim and leaves the Stars the victors. In Colorado, the Avalanche take down the Knights in five games. They’ll face the Stars in Dallas in a week’s time. On the east coast, the Flyers and the Capitals are going head-to-head.

Tyler, Jamie, and the team fly home, drunk with victory and a lot of alcohol. Tyler thinks this might be one of his best memories yet—Jamie flushed and tipsy, unsteady on his feet as he toasts the team and tells them all what a great job they’ve been doing, his smile softening when he looks at Tyler.

“Jesus Christ,” Spezza says, “get a fucking room.”

 _How do you think we got here?_ Tyler wants to retort, but he keeps his mouth shut and grins back at Jamie before taking another swig of champagne.

 

He’s wrung-out and exhausted when he gets home, but Olivia is beside herself with joy when he comes through the door, clearly relieved to see Ferguson is still in one piece but not even giving him a cursory inspection before hurling herself at Tyler, who catches her and laughs, kneeling in the hallway as the dogs dance around them.

 

The doorbell rings early the next morning. Lane and Olivia are already gone, so Tyler drags himself out of bed and down the stairs, wondering fuzzily if it’s Jamie.

The door swings open to reveal Jordie. He’s not smiling.

“Hi!” Tyler says stupidly.

“Hi,” Jordie says, and punches him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so full disclosure—writing in a serial format is _hard_ when you're not a plotter. I've already had to backtrack once and now I'm finding myself needing to foreshadow heavily for this chapter, which has been fighting me.
> 
> WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW, for those reading along as it updates—Tyler has an ex on the Colorado Avalanche who he treated badly. He regrets wholeheartedly how that relationship ended but it was years ago and he thought the guy was over it. This is now referred to in previous chapters.
> 
> (I'm so sorry for the delay, thank you for your patience)

Tyler stumbles backward, face blooming with sudden, shocking pain. He loses his balance and sits down hard as Jordie steps through the door, rubbing his knuckles.

“What t’ _fuck,”_ Tyler manages, staring up at him, one hand cupping his jaw.

“We’re talking,” Jordie informs him, steps around him, and stalks down the hall toward the kitchen.

Tyler’s face _really_ hurts, but he scrambles upright and goes after him. He finds Jordie rummaging in the refrigerator, muttering to himself.

“You have shit taste,” Jordie says over his shoulder.  He grabs the grape juice and pulls a glass from the cupboard.

“Where’s Jamie?”

“Jamie won’t be joining us.”

Tyler rubs his jaw gingerly. He sits down at the table, keeping a wary eye on Jordie, who’s pouring juice and scowling at the glass ferociously.

“What are you even doing here?” Tyler asks.

Jordie flicks him a glance. “Habs went out in the regular season, so I’m here to support my brother and my former team.” He drains the glass like he wishes it was alcohol and pours another. “Imagine my surprise when I show up to find Jamie _not_ an absolute fucking wreck the way he usually is in the playoffs—even if he does hide it well—but instead he’s _happy_. Fucking… _humming_ while he washes dishes. So I think ‘oh my god they did it, they finally got their heads out of their asses and admitted how they feel to each other’.”

Tyler squirms and Jordie pins him with a searing look.

“I asked him what had happened. He told me everything.”

“Everything?” Tyler kind of wants the floor to open up and swallow him.

 _“Everything,”_ Jordie hisses. “Up to and including you telling him there would be no relationship and then coming over for sex right before the playoffs and then right after, telling him there would _still_ be no relationship because apparently that was just you getting your rocks off.”

Tyler puts his head in his hands.

“But he’s okay with that, he tells me,” Jordie continues. “Because he just wants _you_ to be happy, and he’ll do whatever he needs to do to make that happen.”

Tyler wants to _die._

Jordie smacks the glass down hard on the counter, making Tyler jerk. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he snarls.

“Hey,” Tyler protests, but it’s weak and lacks conviction. “I’m just looking out for Olivia, okay?”

“Bullshit.” Jordie’s eyes are angrier than Tyler’s ever seen them. “You’re scared. And I get that, because this shit is scary. But you’re being a _fucking dumbass_ and you’re hurting _my brother_ in the process.” He straightens and Tyler is forcibly reminded just how big he is. “I love you, Tyler,” Jordie says. “But I love my brother more. And if you break his heart, I will _fuck. You. Up._ Are we clear?”

Tyler swallows hard. “You make it sound like I’m toying with him,” he says, his throat tight.

“Aren’t you?”

“No!” Tyler shifts his weight on the hard chair. “It—look, the first time—the _only_ time, I was freaking out. I didn’t know where else to go, and Jamie—” He drags in air. He wants, desperately, to be _with_ Jamie, to let his steady presence settle Tyler’s jagged nerves. “He… understood. He helped.”

“With sex.” Jordie’s voice is flat.

“I mean, it’s a time-honored method?” Tyler tries.

Jordie looks even less amused, somehow.

Tyler deflates, plucking at the tablecloth that’s puddled over his knees. Silence blankets the kitchen.

“I think I was having a panic attack,” he finally says to the table. “So I went… to the only place I felt safe.” He can’t look at Jordie while he’s talking, but at least the tablecloth isn’t judging him. Probably. “After we—it’s complicated, okay?”

Jordie snorts rudely.

“I didn’t mean to, I don’t know… lead him on or anything like that,” Tyler says, finally managing to look up. Whatever Jordie sees in his face makes his eyes soften a fraction but he says nothing, waiting for Tyler to continue. “I just—Olivia needs things to be as normal as possible. And… throwing in a possible romantic relationship would be bad enough, upsetting her routine and whatever, but then when it goes bad? What happens when he gets sick of me? What happens when he remembers how immature and wild I am?” The words catch and clog in Tyler’s throat. “When he l-leaves me, I’ll have to—” He can’t breathe. He digs his fingers into his thigh muscles, struggling for composure.

Jordie sighs, sets the glass in the sink, and crosses the kitchen to drop into the chair opposite him. “God, Segs,” he says quietly. “Just how little do you think of yourself?”

Tyler doesn’t see the point in answering that.

“I can’t fix your self-esteem,” Jordie says, resting his forearms on the table. “But I’m going to tell you exactly what I told Jamie back in October. Shit or get off the pot, bro.”

Tyler huffs an almost-laugh. “So classy,” he mumbles.

“You don’t come to me for class,” Jordie says.

“I don’t come to you for anything,” Tyler retorts. “You’re the one who showed up on _my_ doorstep and oh yeah, fucking _suckerpunched_ me, thanks for that.”

Jordie looks mildly apologetic. “To be fair, you’re setting my brother up to break his heart. I think that deserves at least one punch.”

Tyler sags. “Yeah.” He rubs his face, careful of the bruise forming.

“I mean it,” Jordie says, leaning forward. “You either step up, tell him how you feel and that you want to be with him, or you cut him loose. Which, by the way, is literally word for word what I said to him and I am _tired_ of repeating myself. You can’t have it both ways. No more napping together, which—Jesus, what _is_ that, anyway?”

“It…” Tyler squirms. “I don’t _know,_ okay? It helped. He was freaking out about the first game, I did what felt right. It worked, it calmed him down. I just… I just wanted to help him like he’s helped me.”

“By cuddling him.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tyler snaps. “Men like to cuddle too.”

Jordie’s grin lights his face. “Step up, Tyler. Tell him the truth. But if you’re not willing to go all in, you need to let him go so he can find someone else. He’s never going to be able to do that if he’s still hung up on you. Don’t you think he deserves at least that much?”

Tyler puts his head down on his arms. “I hate you a lot,” he says to the table.

“I know, buddy.” Jordie sounds sympathetic. “I’m going back to Chubbs’ now. Don’t tell him I punched you, he’ll try to defend your honor and I’ll have to kick his ass and it won’t be fun for anyone.”

Tyler sighs. “Please go away.”

 

The house is quiet when Jordie leaves. Finally, Tyler sits up and calls the dogs. Maybe a run will clear his head.

It’s chilly under the trees, mist rising from the fields he catches glimpses of in flashes as he pushes himself until he breaks a sweat.

_Tell him the truth._

_Step up._

Might as well ask Tyler to sprout wings and fly to the moon.

He runs faster, until all he can feel is the pounding of his feet on the dirt, the burn of his lungs. When he finally slows, only Gerry is still with him, looking bright eyed and eager for more.

“Energizer—Bunny,” Tyler wheezes, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees. Gerry dances around him, trying to lick his face as Tyler pushes him weakly away.

Eventually he has to go home, nothing settled in his head. He loves Jamie—of course he does. And he’s pretty sure Jamie loves him back. That hadn’t been a pity fuck.

“What are you so afraid of?” he says out loud, and Gerry gives him an inquisitive look.

_Myself._

It came down to that, didn’t it? Because no matter what he wants, he’s going to find a way to fuck it up. It’s what he does, what he’s best at.

_What’s the alternative?_

He can’t keep Jamie in this state of limbo for himself. It’s selfish and unfair and Jordie was right, much as it galls Tyler to admit it.

Tyler braces his hands on his knees again, breathless for an entirely different reason. “Fuck, Gerry, I have to tell him.”

Gerry tries to lick Tyler’s face again.

Tyler collects the other two dogs, who’ve wandered their way slowly homeward, and they go back to the house, where he showers and tries to figure out how he’s going to do this.

 

He doesn’t get a chance to even catch Jamie alone for several days. Every hour is scheduled—press interviews, photoshoots, soundbites for the media in between practice and strategy sessions. Tyler is rushed off his feet, unable to find a space to breathe, let alone get Jamie by himself. He’ll tell him before the first Avs game, he promises himself, but game day rolls around and Tyler’s still stuck in limbo.

He gets ready for his nap with his heart in his throat. Will Jamie come to him? Will Jordie _let_ him? This makes Tyler snort in spite of his nerves. As if Jamie would ask Jordie’s permission.

The front door opens and softly closes and Tyler sits down on the bed, hiding the rush of relief by shoving his suddenly trembling hands under his thighs.

Jamie appears in the doorway, looking uncertain. There are dark circles under his eyes. He shifts his weight.

“Segs?”

Tyler holds out a hand and Jamie goes to him gladly, crawling onto the mattress and pulling Tyler into his arms.

“Seen Tyson yet?” Tyler asks, praying his voice sounds normal. Jamie feels so good snugged up tight against him, one heavy arm draped over Tyler’s waist.

“Yeah, we caught up a bit,” Jamie murmurs. “Says they’re gonna kick our asses.”

Tyler huffs amusement. “I’d like to see the day.”

“What about you, have you talked to Matt?”

Tyler goes still. “Matt?”

“Nieto. I know you guys are close, or you were. You ditched us to go out with him a few years ago when we played them, remember?”

Tyler keeps his breathing even with an effort. “Yeah, ‘course I remember.” His voice is steady, which he’s grateful for. “We haven’t really talked since then.” Guilt prickles his skin. Even now, four years on, he can’t help hating how he’d ended things with Matt.

He draws a breath— _now, do it now before you lose your nerve—_ and Jamie squeezes him.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

Tyler deflates. “I didn’t—”

“You want to say something,” Jamie says. “And I’m asking you not to.”

Tyler wriggles around until they’re face to face. “You don’t know _what_ I was gonna say,” he points out.

Jamie’s eyes are soft and full of affection. “We’ve got a good thing going,” he says. “Helped us sweep the Ducks, didn’t it? So let’s just… _keep_ it going for now. Don’t rock the boat.”

Tyler narrows his eyes. “Jordie’s not gonna like it.”

Jamie’s smile is wide and unabashed and Tyler fights the urge to kiss it off his face as Jamie laces their fingers together between them on the bed. “Jordie can kiss my ass. Go to sleep.”

Tyler sighs, accepting the inevitable. “After,” he says instead.

Jamie smiles at him and closes his eyes. He’s asleep in under a minute but Tyler lies awake for a while longer, watching his face.

 

They lose the first game by a three point margin. Tyler can’t seem to get his hands to cooperate with his stick, losing puck after puck until he’s clenching his teeth in frustration and making stupid mistakes in an attempt to get his mojo back. He can _feel_ Matt’s eyes on him from the bench—he’s sitting out the first game due to a mild lower body injury—but they don’t speak and Tyler doesn’t do more than nod at him before puck drop.

He can’t meet Jamie’s eyes in the locker room, after. Jamie’s upset, of course, just like he always is after a loss, but it doesn’t seem directed at Tyler specifically. Still, Tyler doesn’t want to look at him and see disappointment on Jamie’s face, so he cools down and showers quickly before heading home to lick his wounds.

 

They have a day off to rest, and then Jamie shows up on game day. This time, Tyler meets him at the door.

They regard each other for a long moment before Jamie quirks a smile at him. “Nobody’s luck is perfect every time,” he offers.

Tyler sighs and lets him in.

 

The Avalanche came to win, bolstered by their victory and determined to repeat it. Tyler gets knocked into the boards in the second period and play is halted as he tries and fails to get back up, vision fuzzing around the edges. He’s aware of a hand on his back and someone shouting in his ear but he can’t _focus,_ everything is blurry. Finally the world stops spinning enough that he manages to grab hold of the boards and someone’s arm and drag himself to his skates.

He refuses help getting off the ice, and is escorted down the tunnel to go through concussion protocol. It’s not a concussion, he tells the medical personnel, but they ignore that and keep checking him over.

Finally, they agree that it’s nothing but a bruise, and release him to dash back up. Montgomery is clearly relieved to see him, gesturing for him to get ready for a shift.

There’s a roar when he steps out on the ice—whatever else is going on, Tyler’s a hometown favorite and no one likes seeing him knocked around.

The score is tied late in the third, and no one wants to go to overtime. Tyler steals the puck from Barrie with less than a minute on the clock and races down the ice on a breakaway, three Avs hot on his heels. He drops the puck between his skates, reaching after it with his stick and scooping it up and over Varlamov’s knee.

The goal horn goes off and Tyler whoops as his team converges on him, Jamie in the lead. Then it’s a matter of keeping the puck away from the increasingly desperate Avs until the clock ticks down.

The buzzer sounds—the games are tied 1-1 and the Stars are heading to Colorado.

 

Tyler spends the time before they leave studiously avoiding Jordie, who alternates between significant looks at Jamie and death glares when Tyler pretends not to notice him.

Luckily, Montgomery has more than enough to keep them busy before they get on the jet, and Tyler leaves Dallas with Ferguson safely tucked away in his bag and Olivia waving goodbye to him as Lane holds her hand.

 

He’ll tell Jamie if they win the third game, Tyler decides. It’s the perfect time—they’ll be high on the win and it’ll make Tyler’s chances of being rejected much lower.

 

They lose.

 

It’s not even close—the Avalanche shut them out ruthlessly, denying every attempt at a goal. The Stars leave the ice dejected, no one looking at each other. The room is subdued as they go through their usual media obligations and head back to the hotel.

 

Tyler calls Lane that evening and talks to Olivia, consoling her over the loss. He forces cheer he doesn’t feel into his voice until he can hear the smile in her own again, and then he tells her goodnight and goes to bed.

 _Next win,_ he tells himself, staring at the ceiling. All they have to do is win and he’ll tell Jamie he loves him and wants to be with him for real. That settled in his mind, he rolls over and falls asleep immediately.

 

Jamie doesn’t come to him for their pregame nap the next day. Tyler waits, checking his phone over and over, but there’s nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Finally, Tyler crawls into the bed that suddenly feels much too big and pulls the sheet up. It takes him far too long to fall asleep and he’s muzzy-headed and tired when his alarm goes off. Maybe Jamie’s come to his senses and he’s cutting things off before Tyler has a chance to fuck it up.

But Jamie greets him with a smile in the locker room, wide and uncomplicatedly happy to see him, and Tyler returns it hesitantly before turning to get changed.

Still, he’s off-balance now, unsure of himself on the ice, caught up in whatever’s going on between him and Jamie, and it’s making him slower to react, easier for the Avs to get past. They score within the first two minutes of puck drop and Tyler gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Montgomery pulls him off a shift and yells at him for a solid three minutes as Tyler sits with his shoulders up around his ears, nodding every time Montgomery pauses for breath. Finally, Montgomery is distracted by Radulov pulling a stupid move and spins to ream him out.

Jamie scoots closer and bumps their shoulders together. “Okay, bud?”

“Yeah.” Tyler watches the play, not wanting to see the concern on Jamie’s face.

“Sorry I didn’t come by earlier,” Jamie says, keeping his voice pitched for Tyler’s ears alone. “Tyson came up and we were talking about some stuff. My phone died and I forgot my fucking charger, so I couldn’t text you.”

Tyler nods, gripping his stick, eyes still on the ice, but it’s a little easier to breathe. “Fine by me,” he says, keeping his tone light. “I sleep better without you snoring in my ear anyway.”

Jamie snorts a laugh and shoves him gently.

 

Tyler faces off with MacKinnon for the next puck drop. He likes Nate, respects him as a player and a person, and feels not an ounce of guilt for winning the drop and dodging Nate’s attempted check on him as he rushes for the net. He’s so focused on getting there that he doesn’t see Matt coming until it’s too late to brace.

He’s on the ice, blinking stupidly up at the ceiling and trying to remember how to breathe. Someone in white and green collides with a maroon jersey in the periphery of his vision but Tyler’s still concerned with the fact that there’s no air in his lungs.

Rads bends over him, face scrunched with worry. “Okay?”

Tyler flaps a hand, meaning to signify _no air,_ and Rads pats his shoulder.

“That was a hard hit. What’d you do to piss Nieto off so much?”

Tyler squeezes his eyes shut as the first blessed trickle of oxygen reaches his lungs and he’s finally able to draw a breath.

Rads helps him up and Tyler skates slowly for the bench.

“I’m fine,” he tells Montgomery and the medic who’s hovering behind him. “Got the wind knocked out of me. Everything’s fine.”

 

Jamie’s taken a penalty for fighting and Nieto one for the check on Tyler. Almost off the penalty kill for Jamie, Landeskog delivers a neat wrister past Bishop’s blocker and they’re up by two.

This is the universe’s way of telling him to keep his mouth shut, Tyler decides as he waits for his next shift.

But then Heiskanen delivers a beauty of a goal on Varlamov, sniping it five-hole, and less than a minute later, Rads scoops up a rebound and sinks it on him.

Just like that, the tide of the game turns. Invigorated, Tyler manages to get the puck from Barrie and sends it to Jamie, who slams it home under Varlamov’s desperately reaching glove.

 

They hang onto the lead by their fingernails, keeping the puck away from every attempt by the Avalanche to regain it. Then the buzzer sounds and Jamie slams into Tyler, shouting in his ear as the rest of the team tumbles out to surround them.

Tyler holds onto Jamie’s waist, laughing and dizzy in the crush of bodies.

“I want to tell you something,” he shouts and Jamie pulls back enough to meet his eyes.

“Hotel?” he asks, and Tyler nods, grinning at him, victory setting his veins on fire.

 

He can’t wait to get through the media scrum and cooldown, but he keeps his patience, aware of Jamie a few feet away in his own knot of reporters. Tyler answers the usual questions with his standard non-answers, careful to keep personal feelings out of his voice.

Then he’s finally free to shower and change, which he does with a sense of dread and hope mixing under his ribs, making it hard to breathe. He’s going to ask Jamie to be _with_ him. He’s going to go for it. Tyler has to brace his hands on the cold tile and take deep gulps of air for a minute. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this terrified in his life.

 

When he gets out of the locker room, Jamie’s waiting for him in the hall, back to him as he talks to someone. Tyler can’t help the goofy grin as he joins him.

It slides off his face in a hurry when he realizes Jamie’s talking to Matt.

“Hey!” Jamie greets him. “Look who dropped by to say hi.”

Tyler forces himself to look Matt in the face. He looks good, as big and muscular as ever, but there’s a tightness around his eyes.

“Hi,” Tyler says.

“I was hoping to have a minute alone with Tyler,” Matt says to Jamie, who nods easily.

“See you at the hotel, Segs.” His fingers brush Tyler’s wrist, feathersoft and barely there, and then he strides away down the hall, and Tyler’s alone with Matt, who’s not looking at him.

He clears his throat. “Um—”

Matt shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says. He looks up and Tyler flinches from the anger in his eyes. “My therapist says I have to forgive you.”

This is so far from what Tyler expected him to say that he’s left gaping.

Matt turns away, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. _“Fuck,”_ he spits. “I shouldn’t have done this.”

Tyler finds his voice. “Just… say it,” he tells him. “Get it out. I deserve it.”

“You deserve—” Matt cuts himself off. “I hated you, for a long time. I think I still do, a bit.”

Tyler wills himself not to react, waiting.

When Matt looks up, his eyes are wet. “I thought I loved you,” he says, and his voice is small, broken and confused. “I—and you—”

Tyler holds himself very still. There’s a distant roaring in his ears.

“You _laughed_ when I told you,” Matt whispers. He shakes his head again as if trying to clear it. “Like I was some stupid kid with a crush. Like you couldn’t _fathom_ returning my feelings. Do you even remember?”

Tyler remembers, all too clearly. Matt with that naked hope in his brown eyes, pleading for Tyler to say something, to tell him he loved him too. It had shaken Tyler to his core, scared him down to his toes at the thought of someone seeing him clearly and wanting to be with him anyway.

He clears his throat, groping for words, but Matt beats him there.

“Did you even know his name, that guy in the bar?”

Hot shame rushes over Tyler. He shakes his head wordlessly. Matt’s mouth tightens as if he’s not surprised.

“Just couldn’t wait to rub in my face how extremely not-special I was,” he says quietly. “I hope he was everything you were looking for.”

 _Be angry with me,_ Tyler wants to plead. _Scream at me._ Hit _me. Punish me for what I did to you._ He deserves to bleed for his sins, but Matt is turning away.

“Wait,” Tyler croaks.

Matt pauses but doesn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler whispers.

Matt hunches his shoulders.

“It wasn’t you,” Tyler says, willing Matt to believe him. “It was—I fucked up. I was—it was never you. I know you don’t believe me, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t either. But—” Matt still isn’t looking at him. “You deserved— _deserve_ —someone good enough for you, and I knew that wasn’t me but I didn’t know how to tell you.” Tyler thinks he’s maybe never hated himself as much as he does in this moment.

“So you decided to show me.” Matt’s voice is flat.

Tyler says nothing. Silence falls, cold and awful.

Finally, Matt nods. “Alright.” He takes a step away.

“That’s it?” Tyler doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

Matt lifts a shoulder. “What else is there?”

“You could—” Tyler flounders. “You could hit me. I deserve it.”

Matt regards him steadily. “Would that make you feel better?”

 _Yes._ Tyler shrugs wordlessly.

“I’m not going to hit you,” Matt says. “I didn’t even mean to check you that hard during the game.” His mouth works silently for a minute. “I don’t hate you,” he finally says. “I feel sorry for you.” And he turns and walks away, leaving Tyler alone in the cold concrete hall.

 

Tyler doesn’t go back to the Stars’ hotel. He walks aimlessly through Denver until his feet ache and his face is numb from the cold, then he calls a cab and asks for the hotel nearest the airport. The driver wants to talk, but Tyler can’t summon the spirit for friendly conversation. He stares out the window and answers in monosyllables until she takes the hint and shuts up. Tyler makes sure to tip her well when she drops him off, and then he drags himself into the hotel and books a room for the night.

He has about a dozen texts and several missed calls on his phone from Jamie when he’s able to look at it. Tyler doesn’t read the texts or listen to the voicemails. He types out a short message instead: _Something came up, see you on plane_ and turns off the phone.

He spends the night sitting in the dark on top of the covers, arms around his knees, staring into the shadows.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs, speaks limited French, and wrote 5K today? 
> 
> This moi! Have the next chapter early to make up for the long wait on the last one.
> 
> (Warning for, uh... canon-typical violence, I guess.)

He’s the first to the airplane and manages to sweet-talk the crew into letting him board early by promising to stay out of their way. He tucks himself into a seat at the back and keeps his word, staying quiet as the crew bustles around getting everything ready.

Jamie’s the next to board and he makes a beeline for Tyler, dropping his bag in the aisle to lean over the seat and inspect Tyler from head to toe.

“What happened?” he demands, and Tyler twitches away from his intent gaze.

“Put your bag away before someone trips over it,” he says.

Jamie looks blank, like he’s forgotten he even had luggage, then turns and shoves it in the overhead compartment with no regard for the contents. Then he sits down beside Tyler.

“What the fuck happened?” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Tyler resists the urge to draw his knees to his chest and instead pushes his hands under his thighs. “Nothing… happened. I just—”

“Did you go out with Matt?”

Tyler shakes his head unthinkingly, then curses himself. He should have lied, said he’d gone out. Maybe then Jamie would stop _digging._

He’s saved by the rest of the team filing into the plane, cheerfully chirping each other.

“Segs!” Bishop says. “Where the hell were you this morning? Jamie said you left for the airport early.”

Tyler glances at Jamie, who shrugs.

“I packed your bag for you,” he says in a low voice.

Tyler doesn’t deserve him.

Thankfully, Bishop doesn’t seem overly invested in Tyler’s answer, settling in the row opposite and insulting Spezza as he gets comfortable.

“You wanted to tell me something,” Jamie says.

Tyler flinches and tries to cover it. From the way Jamie’s eyes are narrowed, he didn’t miss it.

“I, uh—” Tyler fumbles. “It was nothing important.”

Jamie says nothing, watching Tyler’s face.

He’s not going to get out of it that easily, Tyler knows. “After the finals,” he says.

Jamie’s eyes narrow.

Tyler forces himself to be still. “There’s too much riding on this,” he says quietly, for Jamie’s ears alone. “I’m not saying no, just—wait. The team needs us.”

Jamie doesn’t like it, it’s clear, but he finally nods sharply, just once.

They don’t speak the rest of the way home.

 

Tyler is greeted by Olivia and the dogs, all of them ecstatic to see him, and Olivia demands they go over game tape and discuss his plays. Tyler, willing to do just about anything to get the dual images of Matt’s betrayed face and Jamie’s worried one out of his head, agrees, and they curl up on the couch together as Lane runs errands.

Olivia nestles trustingly against Tyler’s side, watching the plays intently. She has a sharp eye for where the puck is going, Tyler thinks. He resolves to take her to the arena and play some one-on-one games with her after the finals, to hone her puck handling skills.

She flinches when Tyler goes down, pressing into his side a little bit harder.

“I wasn’t hurt,” Tyler tells her.

Olivia tips her head back to look up at him. “You stayed down a long time.”

“Got the wind knocked out of me,” Tyler says ruefully. “Ever had that happen?”

Olivia shakes her head.

“You feel like you can’t breathe. You can’t get air in your lungs. It can take a minute or two before you really start to function again. But it was a clean hit, and I’m fine, I promise.”

Olivia sighs. “I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

“Part of the game,” Tyler says. “Besides, I’m still young and healthy, no major injuries—I really am okay. Look—” He taps the screen. “Watch this footwork by Uncle Jamie. Isn’t that something?”

Just like that, the hit’s forgotten and Olivia is absorbed into the action again.

“How many more games?” she asks after a few minutes.

“Three, unless we can win the next two,” Tyler says. “We’re tied right now—if either team wins two games, they’ll advance.”

“You can do it,” Olivia announces, and Tyler smiles, rubbing his cheek against her soft curls. “Ferguson helped, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. “But not as much as you.”

Olivia’s smile is heartstopping, and Tyler smiles back at her.

 

As glad as he is to be home, Tyler can’t help the nausea that swamps him at every turn. He knows what he has to do, and he can’t bear the thought of it. He’s restless, twitchy, and can’t stop pacing, trying to shake the unsettled feeling under his skin, but nothing helps. He has to cut Jamie loose, and it’s going to break him.

 _Doesn’t matter,_ he tells himself. Olivia’s gone to bed and the house is quiet. _This is for Jamie._

He wants to cry. He wants to punch something. He wants to run and never stop. He stands stockstill in his kitchen and calls Jordie.

 

Jordie walks into the house, takes one look at him, and swears under his breath as he reaches out to pull Tyler into a rough hug. “Jesus fuck, Segs,” he says in his ear.

Tyler clutches at him, blinking back tears. “I’m s-sorry,” he manages.

Jordie tightens his grip. “So am I. Come on, let’s get hammered. What do you have here?” He releases Tyler and heads for the alcohol cupboard, where he starts pulling out bottles.

Tyler sits on the couch, curling his legs beneath him as Jordie pours shots and hands him one. “You’re not going to talk me out of it?”

“Can I?”

Tyler shakes his head wordlessly and downs the shot, handing the glass back as the whiskey burns a path to his stomach.

“Then I’m not gonna try.” Jordie pins him with a look. “You’re making the wrong decision and I think you know it, but you’re still my friend and I love you. And at least you’re doing _something.”_

“I don’t deserve you,” Tyler says, accepting another shot.

Jordie snorts. “Less talking, more drinking.”

 

Tyler wakes up with only a minor hangover on game day and a sense of peace, or maybe a simple fatality, clinging to his shoulders. He’s going to give Jamie a chance at finding someone good enough for him, who can make him truly happy the way he deserves. That’s all that matters.

He goes to practice that morning and is somehow able to joke with the team as they warm up, waiting for Montgomery. Tyler works on the drills he’d promised to show Heiskanen until they’re both sweaty and panting, then makes his way around the team, checking in on everyone with a touch or a look, gauging moods and states of mind. They seem upbeat and determined, focused on what they have to do to win the next two games.

Jamie’s doing the same thing, eyes crinkling with the smile he reserves for Tyler when they cross paths, but they don’t speak much.

Tyler finds a moment just before practice to pull him aside, though. “No nap today,” he says under his breath.

Jamie’s face falls.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler says, hating himself. “It’s just—I need to—” He curses himself when he can’t find the words, but Jamie just nods.

“See you back here, Segs.” There’s nothing but affection in his smile, and Tyler hates himself just a little more.

 

They’re playing to a sold-out crowd of green jerseys. The roar when they take the ice shakes the rafters, and Tyler lets the familiar feel of it soak through him, grounding him and sharpening his focus as he warms up and bats pucks at Bishop. He doesn’t look at the white and maroon jerseys on the other side of the arena, intent on finding his groove.

They line up for the opening and Jamie bumps his shoulder briefly. Tyler slants a glance at him but Jamie’s not looking at him, watching the singer belting out the anthem as if he hasn’t heard it a thousand times and more. Something settles into place in Tyler’s chest. This is what he’s here for. They’re going to win, and advance to the Cup playoffs. He can _feel_ it. He jostles Jamie back without looking at him, but catches the flicker of Jamie’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

The Avalanche aren’t going to make it easy for them, though. Landeskog has his team fired up and they’re out for blood, taking no prisoners. Klingberg takes a nasty shot to the head and is escorted down the tunnel for concussion protocol. Shore twists his knee in the first period, and the Avalanche are up by two when the buzzer sounds.

Everything else falls away when they take the ice for the second period—doubts, fears, worries are swept aside until all Tyler sees is the puck, the net, the path it will take. He aims, a defenseman hot on his heels, fires, and watches as it sails cleanly between Varlamov’s knees and hits the back of the net.

He doesn’t see who crashes into him from behind. Tyler hits the boards in a confused tangle of arms and legs. Even over the roar of the crowd he can hear the sickening _snap_ of his left leg and he can’t help the scream that wrenches from him.

The defenseman drags himself free and gets clear as Tyler curls in a ball, gasping for air. All he can feel is the pain in his leg, nauseatingly sharp and radiating outward in vicious corkscrews, twisting his stomach and crowding out all thought. He has to get up. Has to get off the ice by himself. He rolls to his side, sobbing a breath, and then Jamie’s there, hand on Tyler’s shoulder, mouth to his ear.

“What is it?” he asks tautly, fingers tight on Tyler’s jersey.

“Leg,” Tyler manages. “Feels—broken.”

 _“Shit._ Don’t move,” Jamie orders him.

“I don’t want to be carried,” Tyler says—begs, groping for Jamie’s hand, and Jamie swears thickly above him and grabs him.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ve got you. No, I’ve got him!” This to the medics who are approaching with a stretcher. “Segs, arm over my shoulder. Left leg?”

Tyler nods, gritting his teeth against another wave of nausea.

“Left arm over my shoulder, then,” Jamie says, and bends so Tyler can obey. “I’m going to stand up, you just hold on.”

He gets to his feet in a slow, controlled rise, lifting Tyler like he weighs nothing. Tyler chokes back another noise as his left foot hits the ice and he can’t help curling against Jamie’s shoulder, blindly seeking comfort.

Jamie wraps an arm around his waist. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “Taking you to the bench now, hang onto me.”

Tyler closes his eyes. The crowd has fallen silent but now they begin to cheer again, waves of sound overlapping and buffeting Tyler’s ears as Jamie guides him to the bench and the waiting stretcher.

He grabs wildly for Jamie when the medics have him strapped down though. “Jamie—”

Jamie takes his hand again, bending so Tyler can speak without shouting.

He wants to tell him he loves him. That he’s sorry for fucking up so much. That he doesn’t deserve him but still _wants_ him. The words clog in his throat, choking him. There’s so much to say and not enough time.

“Kick their asses,” he finally manages.

Jamie squeezes his hand and lets go, watching the stretcher until Tyler is wheeled out of sight down the hall.

 

The paramedics give him a shot of something that numbs the worst of the pain and leaves Tyler in better control of his faculties by the time they reach the hospital. He flatly refuses to be put under when the X-ray comes back and the doctor says he needs surgery, though.

“Give me a local,” he tells him. The doctor looks baffled. “And turn on the TV, I need to know what’s happening.”

The doctor opens his mouth to argue and a nurse grabs his sleeve, leading him a few feet away. Whatever she says works—the doctor scowls thunderously but orders a small television set to be wheeled in and put in place by Tyler’s head as they prep him for surgery.

Tyler doesn’t even look at what they’re doing, eyes glued to the set. It feels like he’s already been gone for an eternity, but the third period is only half done when the nurse finds the right channel.

They’re still down by one, but Tyler can see that’s not going to last. The Stars are galvanized, stealing the puck and keeping it away in a perfect flow of give and take down the ice. The Avs are scrambling to catch up but it’s useless. Heiskanen takes a perfect snipe between the goalie’s knees and the goal light goes on.

Tyler can’t breathe, watching spellbound as Jamie grabs it next. He’s pushed out of the offensive zone by the Avs, so he drops back to the neutral zone, buying time.

Jamie’s always been good on the ice. It’s where he communicates best, where he’s most comfortable. But his playing now is like nothing Tyler has seen before. He’s fast and deadly, unhesitatingly slamming an unlucky forward into the boards without losing the puck, then spinning and dropping it to Carrick, who rushes the net. Jamie’s already in position when Carrick gets there, covered in defensemen, and he can’t even _see_ the puck when Carrick slams it across to him, but somehow, somehow he catches it on his tape and tips it in.

 _“Yes!”_ Tyler shouts, punching the air, and the doctor swears.

“Put him under,” he orders. “I can’t work like this.”

“What—no, I need—”

But it’s too late—the nurse gives him an apologetic look as she slips a needle into Tyler’s IV, and Tyler is pulled under before he can finish.

 

The room is quiet when he wakes up. He can hear muted beeping and soft conversation outside, and he rolls his head on the pillow, struggling to bring his brain online. His leg doesn’t hurt—he can’t feel it at all, in fact. Did they amputate? Suddenly terrified, Tyler struggles to one elbow, blinking gritty eyes that refuse to focus. He’s immeasurably relieved to see both his feet beneath the blanket, blurry but definitely there.

Tyler collapses back on the pillows, out of breath, and passes out before he can call the nurse.

 

The next time he comes to, he’s already thinking more clearly, his brain no longer the foggy mess it was before. He opens his eyes. The room is dim, but he can see a shape on the couch at the end of the bed.

“Did we win,” he rasps.

“Yeah,” Jamie says quietly. He stands and steps into the light, putting his phone away. Tyler drinks in the sight of him greedily as Jamie smiles. He looks exhausted, pale and washed out. “How are you feeling?”

“Olivia,” Tyler blurts, suddenly horrified. “Oh god, where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Jamie says soothingly. He draws up the chair beside Tyler and drops into it. “I just texted Lane. They’re on their way.” He finds the call button on the bed and presses it before Tyler can protest.

The nurse comes in to check Tyler’s vitals. Tyler barely notices her, eyes on Jamie, who’s leaning back in the chair. He looks on the verge of sleep, exhaustion in every line of his body.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tyler’s mouth says with no input from his brain as the nurse leaves.

Jamie flinches and hurt crosses his face.

“No,” Tyler says, cursing himself. “I mean you should be resting, Jamie, you have to go back to Denver and—fuck, I won’t be with you. _Fuck.”_

Jamie’s expression eases but the door opens before he can answer and Olivia bursts through.

 _“Daddy,”_ she sobs, and hurls herself at the bed.

Tyler reaches for her, forgetting everything else to gather her into his arms as she twines both arms around his neck and weeps against his shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Tyler says, tears spilling from his own eyes. “I’m here, Livvy, I’m okay, I promise—”

Olivia’s small body shakes with her hiccuping sobs, and Tyler holds her as Lane steps up to the bed, face drawn with concern.

“I told her you’d be okay,” she says, rubbing Olivia’s back gently. “But she needed to see for herself.”

“I’m sorry,” Tyler tells Olivia, brushing her hair off her forehead. “That must have been so scary for you.”

Olivia nods into his throat, but the worst of the tears have eased. She refuses to let go, though, and Tyler shakes his head at Lane when she suggests it.

Jamie clears his throat. “I should… go.”

Tyler eases Olivia to the side, tucking her close, and looks up at him. “Jamie—”

“I’ll tell the guys you’re okay. They’ll want to come see you before we leave.”

Tyler nods, wordless, and watches as Jamie leans over the bed and presses a gentle kiss to Olivia’s forehead. Olivia smiles up at him and Jamie returns it. When he straightens, his hand trails down Tyler’s arm but he steps away before Tyler can react.

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and leaves.

 

It takes a while before Olivia’s willing to let Tyler out of her sight. At first she demands to sleep in the room with him, and Tyler has to call in backup in the form of the nurse, who’s clearly sympathetic but still firm as she explains Olivia can’t stay once visiting hours are over.

Tyler squeezes her when she droops. “The dogs will be worried,” he points out. “Do you think you can take care of them for me until I get home?”

Olivia sighs but nods, accepting the inevitable. Before they go, she flings her arms around Tyler’s neck and kisses his cheek messily.

Tyler manages to hide the wince at the jostling of his leg and holds her tight.

“I love you,” Olivia whispers in his ear, and Tyler has to squeeze his eyes shut briefly.

“I love you too,” he tells her, matching her tone, and her smile lights up the room.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning, the doctor tells him his tests all came back and other than his leg, he’s in excellent health. “I see no reason for you to not be able to rejoin your team next season, as long as you take the time to heal and rehab it properly over this summer,” he says.

The team descends on him immediately after, coming in pairs that start with Jamie and Val. Every single one of them has a giant stuffed teddy bear or balloons or massive bouquet of flowers, and soon Tyler’s room is overflowing with get well messages as all his teammates tell him how the game ended, how Jamie scored the final two goals that put them ahead, the fight Spezza got in, how Bishop made an incredible save.

The nurses are looking a little frazzled by the time the last of the players leaves, but Tyler is happy, relaxing against his pillows with a sigh.

There’s a knock on the door and Tyler looks up to see Jordie smiling at him.

“Hey, Darth,” Tyler says, lifting his bed again.

“Hey, dumbass,” Jordie returns. He’s holding yet another stuffed animal, a panda this time, and Tyler can’t help his laugh.

“I’m giving every single one of those to Olivia,” he warns.

“Oh, you think I bought it for you?” Jordie retorts. “That’s adorable. Your daughter’s way cuter than you.” He sets the panda down and flops into the chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I fell off a roof,” Tyler says. He shifts in the bed and winces.

“What’s the doctor saying?”

“Clean break. Should heal with no problems. But I’m out for at least six weeks.”

Jordie grimaces. “Sucks, man. I’m sorry.”

Tyler lifts a shoulder. “It is what it is, right? I can’t change it.”

“They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” Jordie says. “Whatever else has been going on with you, you’ve been playing great.”

“Well, they’re gonna have to finish without me,” Tyler says. He can’t help the bitterness in his voice but if anyone can understand, it’s Jordie. He glances up. “Jamie played well last night, didn’t he?”

“God, yeah,” Jordie says. “Don’t tell him I said so, of course, but he was incredible.”

Tyler almost smiles. “He’s always incredible.”

“And you’re biased.” Jordie snickers. “You make him better, you know.”

“What?”

Jordie levels a look at him. “You think you’re the only one who gets anything out of your friendship? He was a decent player before you came along, but he was so painfully, horribly shy that he couldn’t get out of his own way. You pulled him out of his shell, Segs. You made him a better player, a better _person,_ to be honest.”

Tyler’s face is burning. He stares at his lap, unsure what to say.

“I’m just saying, it goes both ways.” Jordie’s voice is gentle. “I know you think you don’t deserve him or some shit like that, but I don’t think you’ve ever really seen the difference you’ve made in his life.” He reaches in his bag and pulls out a tablet. “I want you to do something for me.” He puts the tablet and a charger on the bed next to Tyler’s leg. “Watch some more game tape for me. Of Jamie before and after you got here. Okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Tyler says.

“I think you will,” Jordie says cryptically. “I gotta get going. Jamie’s gonna need you in the box for the Cup playoffs, so you focus on getting better.” He winks and leaves before Tyler can say anything else.

 

Tyler spends the rest of the day watching game tape. He finds all of Jamie’s old games cued up and waiting for him, and he works his way through each one, watching everything Jamie does with an eagle eye.

It’s true, he realizes after a few hours. Jamie’s play was good before Tyler came to Dallas, but not inspired. He hadn’t really made any waves—he’d played a solid but not exciting game.

Tyler goes through the files until he finds a recent game, one of the playoffs against the Avs. The difference is electrifying. Jamie’s faster, more confident, a playmaker instead of just doing what he’s told. He has a sixth sense for his teammates and where the puck will be, able to put himself in position three and four moves ahead of it.

 _I helped him._ The concept is staggering, so revolutionary that Tyler has to close his eyes and breathe for a minute. _I make him… better._ He opens his eyes and hits play on the game again. He watches Matt’s hit on him and Jamie barreling across the ice to collide with him. He throws punches with single-minded intensity, clearly furious but channeling the rage into sharp, hard jabs that has Matt’s head rocking back with the force of them.

 _He loves me,_ Tyler thinks, and laughs out loud, pressing his hands to his mouth helplessly. _He loves me and I’m…_ good _for him._

He fumbles for his phone, swearing as his suddenly clumsy hand knocks it off the table. He strains to reach it but it’s on the floor out of his grasp, and he finally gives up and calls a nurse, who hands it back to him with an indulgent smile.

Jamie answers on the first ring. “Segs?” There’s a lot of background noise and Tyler has to strain to hear him.

“Hey—are you on the plane?”

It gets quieter suddenly. “Yeah,” Jamie says. He sounds worried. “I went in the bathroom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. He clutches the bedspread. “I just—” His courage deserts him, his throat suddenly dry as dust. “Good luck,” he finally says weakly.

“It’s not the same without you,” Jamie murmurs.

The nurse chooses then to walk in the room, and Tyler jolts.

“Fuck, I gotta go. Um—”

“I’ll call you when I land, if you want,” Jamie says.

“Okay,” Tyler says, unwilling to hang up.

Jamie laughs quietly. “Bye, Segs.”

 

An itch is forming under Tyler’s skin as the day crawls on. He’s restless, wanting to move, like his entire being is being pulled toward something, but he doesn’t know _what._

It’s not right, that Jamie and his team— _their_ team—are in Colorado and Tyler’s not.

“Oh, _fuck it,”_ he says out loud, and grabs his phone again. He dials quickly. “Lane? I need you to do a few things for me.”

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lane says when she shows up the next morning with a wheelchair and a pair of crutches. Olivia is by her side, fizzing with excitement.

“Nothing I do is ever a good idea,” Tyler says through his teeth as he zips up his pants. He had to use scissors to cut the left leg open so his cast would fit, and he shoves his right shoe on, dizzy with medication and pain.

“Yeah, but—”

“You don’t have to come with us,” Tyler says. “We won’t be gone that long.”

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Lane retorts. “You think I’d miss this?”

Olivia’s bouncing on her toes. “Are we really going to Colorado?”

Tyler grins at her. “We sure are. Got your bag packed?”

“Yeah! Ferguson’s comin’ too!”

“Good,” Tyler says, and eases himself into the wheelchair.

 

The nurses are, predictably, very displeased when Tyler checks himself out. He stops to sign as many autographs as he can, thanking them for taking such good care of him and promising not to overdo it and make things worse.

He’s trembling by the time they make it downstairs and into the car. Olivia helps him buckle and pats his good leg gingerly.

“Plane leaves in an hour,” Lane says, checking her watch. “We’ll have to hurry. But I got first class tickets, like you asked. There should be room for your leg.”

Tyler smiles at her faintly. “You’re getting a serious bonus,” he says, and closes his eyes to her laugh.

 

The flight takes forever and no time at all. Lane does a good job of distracting Olivia, and Tyler is free to think about what he’s going to do when they land. He’s _terrified,_ his mouth dry and palms sweaty, but he’s seeing this through, one way or the other.

Lane’s ordered a car with significant leg room that’s waiting for them at the Denver airport, and she shrugs when Tyler gives her an appreciative look.

“Amazing what gets done with money. Thanks for the credit card, by the way.”

Olivia is bouncing on the seat as Tyler eases himself inside, jaw clenched.

“Let’s go, let’s _go,”_ she urges, and Tyler can’t help his smile, even through the pain.

The drive doesn’t take long, and Lane takes the wheelchair at the rink, stopping to ask for directions and then pushing Tyler through the halls as Olivia dances alongside.

Luckily, the staff recognizes Tyler and lets them through, with a few puzzled looks but no questions asked.

Lane stops outside the guests’ locker room. “Okay, Liv, this is as far as we go.”

Tyler takes the crutches from her and levers himself upright. His chest is tight and he can’t get his breath.

“You’ve got this,” Lane says quietly.

“Serious bonus,” Tyler tells her, and opens the locker room door.

 

It takes a minute for the team to realize he’s there. Spezza sees him first, his mouth dropping open, and Tyler puts a finger over his lips. Bishop is next, eyes going wide and a smile creeping across his face. The room goes silent in a wave as more and more people see him standing there.

Jamie’s on the far side, head down as he straps his pads in place, and he looks up, frowning.  He freezes in place when he sees Tyler balancing on the crutches just inside the door.

“Seggy?”

Tyler swallows the butterflies, the terror, pushing it all down and away to focus on Jamie’s beautiful face. His voice shakes only a little when he says, “I need to tell you something.”

Jamie crosses the room to him, worry carving lines around his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he says urgently. “You should be in the hospital. Why—here, sit down.”

Tyler bats at him as Jamie tries to help him sit on the nearest locker. “Jamie, stop. _Listen_ to me.”

Jamie stops, drawing back enough to look him in the eyes.

“I love you,” Tyler says, and it’s too loud, a little defiant and unsteady.

Jamie stares at him. The locker room is dead silent.

Tyler tips his chin up. “You make me better,” he says. “You make me want to _be_ better. A-and I make _you_ better. I know that now. I do. So.” He’s going to die of oxygen deprivation, he thinks faintly. “Um. That’s all.”

Jamie is rooted in place, and terrible doubt seizes Tyler. He’s wrong, he’s gambled and lost, Jamie doesn’t love him after all—

He opens his mouth, no idea what he’s going to say, and Jamie takes a quick step forward into his space, cupping his jaw in both hands and covering Tyler’s lips with his own.

Tyler nearly sobs with relief, sagging against him as the locker room erupts behind them with roars and cheers and wolf whistles.

“I’m so sorry,” Tyler tries to say against Jamie’s mouth, but Jamie won’t pull back enough to let him talk. “I love—mmf—I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut _up,”_ Jamie says, and kisses him again.

The team crowds around them, slapping them both on the back, knocking Tyler off-balance and making him flinch with pain until Jamie growls at the press of hands and makes them back off.

“Fuckin’ _finally,_ Segs!” someone shouts, and Tyler hiccups a laugh and hides his face in Jamie’s throat.

There are tears on his cheeks when he lifts his head, but Jamie’s smiling down at him, warm and steady and solid, and his team is surrounding him, and he’s loved, he’s wanted, he’s _needed._

Tyler swallows and clears his throat. “Win this one for me, eh boys?”

The team roars again and Jamie pulls him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I MAKE IT ALL BETTER, SEE?
> 
> Come scream at me [on Tumblr](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com) if you so wish!


	13. Chapter 13

Tyler wakes up first, stretching luxuriously with a yawn. Beside him, Jamie mumbles something and rolls over, reaching for Tyler in his sleep. Tyler lets him pull him close, nuzzling the nape of his neck, and smiles to himself, lacing their fingers together where Jamie’s hand rests on Tyler’s stomach. 

Jamie rumbles contentedly, deep in his chest, and his hand slides down over the cut of Tyler’s hip. His breath is hot on Tyler’s skin when he scrapes his teeth lightly across the bumps of Tyler’s vertebrae, making him shudder and arch into it. 

Tyler is hardening rapidly as Jamie continues to explore, but he makes no effort to touch himself or hurry Jamie up.  _ This is good, _ he thinks hazily, Jamie’s touch lighting trails of heat along Tyler’s body. 

“Hey,” Jamie says after a few minutes, hand stilling. 

Blinking, Tyler resurfaces. He looks over his shoulder into Jamie’s face, warm with love. 

“Hey, Western Conference winner,” Tyler says, just to see the smile spread across Jamie’s face. 

It works. Jamie tugs Tyler into a kiss, the angle awkward, and after a minute, makes a dissatisfied noise with his access and rolls Tyler to his back, careful as ever with his leg in its bulky cast. 

“What time is it?” he asks, voice burred with sleep.

Tyler checks the clock. “Not even five. You can go back to sleep.”

Instead, Jamie props himself on one elbow above him. He bends to kiss him again as Tyler smoothes his palms across Jamie’s freckled shoulders, smiling into it. 

It’s been a week since the Stars beat the Avalanche in a resounding victory, returning home triumphant as the Western Conference champions. Tomorrow, they go up against the Lightning and it will be no easy win, Tyler knows. 

Jamie growls against Tyler’s mouth. “Am I boring you?”

“Sorry,” Tyler says hastily. He loops his arms around Jamie’s neck. “Just… wish I was gonna be out there with you.”

Jamie’s eyes soften and he takes another quick kiss. “Me too,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna win it for you.”

Tyler surges up and catches Jamie’s mouth in something like desperation, hot and wordless. Jamie kisses him back just as hard, hands beginning to rove Tyler’s body again. 

He skims fingers over Tyler’s ribs, making him twitch and laugh breathlessly. 

“You’ve lost weight,” Jamie says, pulling away briefly. 

“Happens,” Tyler says, trying to drag him back down. 

Jamie seems not to notice, tracing the line of Tyler’s hip. Tyler can’t help the whine as Jamie dips lower, knuckles brushing the head of Tyler’s cock where it’s flushed and hard against his belly. 

Tyler bucks up against him and Jamie pins his hips with one hand.

“Careful,” he chides, then drops his head to close his mouth around Tyler’s nipple. 

Tyler chokes on air, back arching. Jamie’s tongue is hot and wet and he’s not shy about using his teeth, scraping them across sensitive skin and then sucking until Tyler is writhing, unable to think. 

“Please,  _ please,” _ he chants, one hand tangled in Jamie’s soft hair, but Jamie seems not to notice, taking his time with the first nipple before moving to the other. This puts more of his weight across Tyler’s chest, and he sighs, letting Jamie pin him to the mattress. “I love you,” he whispers and Jamie lifts his head.

His eyes are dark, lips red, and he looks wrecked already, but he smiles, bright and mischievous. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

Tyler shoves weakly at his shoulder. Jamie doesn’t even sway, smile widening. “I’ve known it for years,” Tyler points out. 

Jamie’s smile turns tender. “I’m glad you finally found the balls to tell me, then.”

Tyler laughs out loud. “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

Jamie’s only too happy to obey, and they make out languidly for a while, hands roaming across each other’s skin. Tyler’s arousal is a warm glow in the pit of his stomach, but he feels no need to chase it, content to lose himself in Jamie’s touch and smell and feel.

He has no idea how long it is before Jamie pulls away and leans across him to fumble in the bedside drawer. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asks.

“Oh  _ God _ yes,” Tyler says, already pulling off his pants, then hesitates. “How, though? I mean—” He gestures at his leg.

“Let’s try with you on your left side,” Jamie says, and Tyler rolls over obediently. Jamie makes sure he’s comfortable, grabs the lube, then tucks himself up against his back, smoothing a hand down Tyler’s flank. “I jerked off to those pictures of you on the zamboni,” he whispers, and Tyler shivers through a laugh. “Eating that fucking popsicle and smirking at the camera. You’re a fucking tease, Tyler Seguin.” His hand dips below the curve of Tyler’s hip and urges his leg up. 

Slick fingers probe his entrance and Tyler lets his head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder as Jamie stretches him open, slow and relentless. 

_ “God,” _ he pants, eyes squeezed shut. “J-Jamie, I—”

“I’ve got you,” Jamie soothes, their cheeks pressed together. “Just hang on, baby.”

Tyler whimpers as Jamie adds another finger and twists, his knuckles dragging against his rim. At this angle, Jamie can’t get very deep, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Tyler can already feel the pressure building in his chest, and he knows it’s not going to take much.

Jamie takes his time here too, pushing in and retreating in what feels like slow motion, until the world drops away, narrowed down to the slick slide of fingers stretching him wide. Tyler is panting, shaking with the effort of being still, when Jamie finally pulls out, and he can’t help the whine.

“Shh,” Jamie says, slipping his left arm under Tyler’s body to pin him against his chest. Tyler relaxes into him and then there’s a blunt pressure on his hole, crowding all coherent thought from Tyler’s mind.

He cries out and Jamie claps his free hand over Tyler’s mouth, not stopping his forward motion. “You’ll wake Olivia,” he says, suppressed laughter in his voice.

Tyler groans deep in his chest and shoves his hips backward, taking Jamie in another inch. He delights in the hitch in Jamie’s breath and then Jamie is sliding out and pushing at his shoulder, rolling him over onto his stomach.

“Okay?” he asks, and Tyler shifts until it’s comfortable, spreading both legs and canting his hips invitingly. Jamie swears thickly at that, settles between his legs, and slides back in, one smooth, strong thrust that punches the air from Tyler’s lungs.

He gasps into the pillow as Jamie lowers himself down until he’s blanketing Tyler from head to toe, their cheeks pressed together and Tyler’s hips molded against Jamie’s pelvis. Jamie’s breathing is harsh in his ear and Tyler reaches up behind himself blindly to cup Jamie’s skull.

Jamie kisses his cheek and begins to move. He fucks Tyler in sharp, hard thrusts, grunting under his breath with the effort, elbows braced on either side of Tyler’s head. Every movement drags Tyler’s cock over the sheets, the high thread count cotton feeling like sandpaper against his over-sensitive skin. It’s rough and dry and perfect and Tyler wants it to last forever, for Jamie to fill all his senses and consume him. He’s a forest fire, a conflagration, roaring through Tyler’s nerves and setting him alight from the inside out.

Jamie’s hips are speeding up, losing their rhythm, his breath jagged. He presses his face to the curve of Tyler’s neck, then sinks his teeth into the muscle and Tyler comes with a helpless wail that’s muffled by the pillow as Jamie drives deep and freezes, body shaking minutely as he spills into Tyler’s core.

He collapses on top of Tyler, making him grunt, and presses sloppy kisses to the nape of his neck. Tyler lies there and enjoys it until the wet spot starts getting uncomfortable, and then he pushes and shoves until Jamie rolls to the side with an aggrieved moan. Tyler twists and pokes him in the side.

“I’m crippled,” he says. “You have to clean us up.”

Jamie moans again, reaching out blindly to try and pull Tyler against him, but Tyler avoids his groping hand and pokes him again.

“Stop,” Jamie protests on a laugh, and Tyler grins. He leans in and presses a kiss to Jamie’s mouth.

“Clean us up so we can go back to sleep,” he orders.

“Ugh, fine.” Jamie rolls out of bed and pads into the bathroom, returning with a warm wet cloth and wiping Tyler down with careful strokes. He gets dressed and then helps Tyler pull his pants back on over the cast, putting a dry towel over the wet spot before crawling back into the bed. “Is this going to be a thing?” he teases. “This whole coming untouched business?”

Tyler pinches Jamie’s forearm, no force behind it. “Only ever happens with you,” he mumbles, and Jamie laughs against him, body shaking silently.

“You’re good for my ego,” he says.

Tyler hums, relaxing into his arms. He’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep again, but he feels  _ good, _ floating on a sea of endorphins and pleasure that’s drowned out the pain of his leg, and he thinks vaguely he could stay like this all day.

Jamie kisses the curve of his ear. “I love you too,” he whispers.

The bedroom door creaks open and they both freeze.

“Daddy?” Olivia’s voice quavers just slightly, and Tyler sits up.

“What’s wrong?”

Olivia knuckles at her eyes with the hand not gripping Ferguson. “I had a bad d-dream.”

“Come here,” Jamie says before Tyler can, holding out a hand, and Olivia scrambles onto the bed to settle between them. "Did we wake you up?" Jamie asks, and Tyler meets his eyes, lips twitching, in the dark over Olivia’s head. Jamie smiles at him and strokes Olivia’s hair off her forehead.

"No," Olivia says. "I dreamed Ferguson turned into a real anteater and ran away."

"Well, that's just silly," Jamie says. "Even if he did turn real, he'd never leave you. Where else would he get waffles and lamb tibs?"

Olivia giggles, relaxing.

“Better?” Tyler asks.

“Better,” Olivia says, already sounding drowsy. She nestles into Tyler’s warmth, smelling like strawberries and coconut, and Tyler reaches across her small body to lace his fingers between Jamie’s again.

_ Thank you, _ he thinks.  _ Thank you for giving me this, Stephanie. I promise I’ll take care of our girl. _

He falls asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, you guys are great. I was uneasy about writing not only RPF but a kid fic to boot, and somehow I've ended up with a bunch of new friends who enjoy my stories and are willing to shriek to and with me about my many and varied feelings for these idiots (and also hockey in general). 
> 
> If you too would like to talk hockey or dumb boys, [join me on my Tumblr!](http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)
> 
> (Stay tuned for a timestamp of Olivia's birthday, too.)


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